


Newest Recruit

by WishfullyThinking



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, OC, OC/Canon, Original 10th Class, Thief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishfullyThinking/pseuds/WishfullyThinking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young girl climbs onto a bus thinking it was going to a Summer Camp, where she would be a councillor. WRONG! Instead, she climbed up on a bus containing our favorite RED and BLU mercenaries! She has no idea what the future holds. Perhaps she can survive without getting critically injured or harassed for her true gender? I hope so. Original 10th Class. COMPLETE!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Newest Recruit

Chapter 1:

She knew wasn’t her fault, honestly.

Who wouldn’t have gotten on the wrong bus when the bus schedule clearly stated 3:00? The bus was sitting there, quiet as could be. People were jumping on, and she had assumed she would be late. She let out a breath, running a hand through her short hair, pulling on her baseball cap tightly. She wore her usual summer clothes, a pair of running shorts, a baggy purple t-shirt. If you really wanted to know the details, she wore a sports bra underneath (being an A-cup didn’t really make her have anything to show off), but otherwise she wasn’t too worried about her garments, under or over.

It was in the summer, or at least starting, in May. She had just been taking a semester off in college, and she had accepted an offer for a counseling job over in some summer camping area near the west. She had accepted, having prior jobs with such positions. The bus schedule she had been given clearly stated her bus was to arrive at 3:00.

And there it was.

The reason she wanted to go to a summer camp was just to get away from home. Her mother had been bugging her to get out of the house (“But not near any stores, mind you!”) and go do something that would pay. Her friends either not talking to her or in jail didn’t help that she didn’t have anyone to hang out with. Her old job was a bore, staying in a library was as dull as it gets, wasn’t exactly exciting. So, she was pleasantly surprised that she had been offered a job as a counselor. Luckily it wasn’t a gooey-nice sort of councilor you got in high school, so she accepted it.

So she pulled her backpack back on, as it had been slipping down her shoulder, annoying the hell out of her. Taking a deep breath, she got in line, and finally stepped inside the bus. She hadn’t realized that it was so big, and carried so many people. The first she saw was a very, very large teenager, or man. It was hard to tell. It was also hard to tell whether or not he was overweight or just so over-muscular his skin was ready to burst. Beside the hulking figure was a small man, not exactly dainty, but definitely smaller than the man-balloon. She slid away from them. She noticed much older men than teenagers, which she would have expected, considering this was summer camp. Some guy who appeared to have a _soup bowl_ on his head, barking madly at a man wearing a yellow construction hat, who seemed to ignore him, strumming on his guitar. Behind them was a man in an eye-patch, snorting, and she could taste something foul in the air. She raised her brows, wondering if she should report the man to the bus driver, but decided to let it go. _Might as well not start picking fights, y’know?_

What was really strange is that there were so many older men. Was this right? She knew that this camp was big, like, high school big; it said so on the paper she had accepted. So… maybe teachers and other councilors? Cooks, stuff like that? She supposed this was what she had to assume.

She finally settled on sitting next to a teenage boy, or what he appeared to be, wearing a blue t-shirt and trousers. He looked like some blast-of-the-past kid, his hair all smoothed back, a secret chain under his shirt that he thought no one could see. She muffled a smile, her lips twitching with effort as she settled in. She noted that she was the only one in the bus wearing purple. And, in fact, it was drawing attention to her. The men in blue glance at her suspiciously, from her shirt to her face, then to her eyes, as if trying to see if she were a threat. The men in red were also staring, but not as frequent. They appeared not to see her as a threat.

Finally, when the last man got on board the bus began to move. She was surprised at the man’s appearance; he was wearing blue ski-mask of sorts and a similar blue suit and tie, appearing to be in a sort of pin-stripe fashion. He was also smoking, the scent wafting towards her nose, causing her to cough despite her attempts not to. The man in the mask glanced at her, a smirk on his lips. 

_‘Dick,’_ She thought to herself, sticking out her jaw in attempts at looking impressive while he passed. _‘Maybe some people don’t like sucking in cancer.’_

She yawned; smacking her lips audibly before turning to the boy she sat with.

“So, this yer’ first time?” She asked, her voice not exactly giving away any femininity. Her voice was more or less deeper than most girls she had been friends with, perhaps living with her father for such an amount of time did that, she had no idea. The boy stared at her a moment, studying her face and glancing at her shirt before giving her a small smile.

“Nah, I’ve been there a few times. Lucky, really. My Ma really wanted me to stay home, too.” He seemed to puff out his chest, “But I told her that a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. ”

She managed not to roll her eyes. She noticed, however, that the teen had a Bostonian accent, so she deduced he was most likely from somewhere around New York.

“Yer’ not from around here, are yah?” She asked a slightly amused smile on her face.

“Naah, I come from Massachusetts. Waitaminute, which state is this again?” He frowned, rubbing his chin.

“Yer’ in Kansas; how in the hell do you not know where you are?” She frowned, feeling the bus go over a couple of bumps. The teen frowned, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Well, I’ve been on this bus awhile when they began pickin’ people up. I guess I just lost track of the time. Slept most of the way.” The teenager replied. She decided to take this normally as possible. This was probably normal, really. She just never heard a kid not knowing where he was on a bus. 

“Sooo…” She began after a moment of silence, “Are you excited to go over there?”

“Are you kiddin’? This job is awesome!” He exclaimed, gathering a bit of attention, which was almost lost immediately. “I can’t wait to go over there and start!”

She was amused by his excitement for the camp. Maybe she could be friends with this kid, maybe. He looked like a nice guy, more or less, but not the type she would date. Maybe a buddy or something. She hoped that she’d get paired up with someone friendly like him when they were looking over the kids.

She maintained a quiet presence most of the ride, when the bus finally stopped a moment. A few of the red and blue people stood, peering to the window with a kind of child-like curiosity. Suddenly, a woman with black hair up in a tight curl stepped onto the bus, in a purple business dress, similar purple glasses on her nose. She held a clipboard in her hand, scribbling away as she scurried down the hall. The strange woman’s eyes suddenly focused on her, and she felt a little bit afraid. But it was soon extinguished. Why would she be afraid?

“Excuse me, but I do not believe you are in the correct color.” She stated calmly, peering towards her, “You should be wearing red or blue, not purple. That is only for me and the Announcer.”

She felt confused. Why would it matter which color shirt she wore? She shook her head, “Fine, I’ll change when we get there.” She sighed, tapping her foot, daring the woman to say anything to provoke her. The strange woman stared a moment before curtly nodding, stepping back to the front, sitting down in a seat she had not noticed was unoccupied.

“Y’know who that is? That’s Miss Pauling.” Said the teen, practically drooling. She rolled her eyes, maintaining the urge to flick him on the nose when the bus hit another bump. She heard the drunk man groan, calling for mercy. Apparently, the bus driver took this as a complaint of nausea, and reluctantly stopped at what could only be called the most disgusting restrooms ever. They were filed out of the bus, and were told to use the restroom. Unluckily for the drunken man, he simply rolled into the ditch at the side of the road and began to dry heave. The others stepped over him without giving him a second thought, and decided it was for the best. She certainly couldn’t do anything.

Despite the slight pushing of her bladder, she didn’t feel the need to touch the handle of the restroom’s door. She made a disgusted face, grinding her teeth as she cringed. Stepping away from the door, she was surprised to accidently bump into something alive.

“Woah, sorry there.” She apologized, spinning around to see the man in the suit. He smirked slyly, gesturing with a hand that it was no big deal. She let out a small breath, and decided to allow the strange man to stand beside her.

“I was wondering why you were wearing purple,” Began the man, who took a long pull of his cigarette, breathing it out slowly, the scent wafting towards her nose. “Could you be confused?” His voice was a purr, expecting a confused reply.

“No! I just simply didn’t have any clean shirts today, other than this one.” She sniffed, taking a step away from the man. He laughed a little, and she finally noticed that strong French accent. So they were getting people out of country? That’s kind of cool.

“What’re you doin’ out in the states, Frenchy?” She asked coolly, deciding not to cough when the smoke blew near her nose. The Frenchman laughed a stereotypical “Hon hon hon!” sort of way.

“My good boy, I am the Spy.” He snorted, “Just one of the few, I might add. It seems you haven’t gotten the memo yet.” He laughed, having the gull to pat her shoulder. So they thought she was a boy, eh? Well, that didn’t bother her. What did bother her was that she hadn’t gotten ‘the Memo’. What in the hell was that? But before she could ask, the bus driver honked the horn, and the men suddenly ran out of the restroom at lightning speed. It seemed the balloon-man, however, got trapped in the door with the man with the soup-hat. She snorted as they cursed and insulted one another, but it was eventually resolved when the man with the goggles kicked them out of the door way, smirking all the while. The goggled-man stepped over the two, going over to the ditch and helping the drunken half-asleep man in the ditch onto the bus. Eventually everyone piled back in, and they made their way to… wherever the hell.

 

Chapter 2:

 

She was disappointed when she found her seat with the young man taken by the man with the soup-hat, so she search for a moment with her eyes, her inner shyness creeping up on her when she heard a soft, Texan voice.

“Y’all can sit right here.” Said the man with the goggles, strumming on his guitar with a friendly smile on his face. She managed to smile back, sitting down beside him, allowing herself to look him over. He appeared about middle-aged, with a shaved head under that yellow hard-hat. He wore overalls and a red t-shirt underneath, and a pair of scuffed up brown work-boots. He also wore a yellow glove, most likely for protection against electrical equipment, as he seemed to be the handy type with his goggles, helmet, and a large tool-box under his feet.

“So, I was wonderin’ your name, partner. M’ name is Dell Conagher, but people call me Engineer ‘round here. Or Engie, for short.” He asked, smiling as he begins to tune his guitar once more, which seemed to be another one of his skills. She found his accent to be quite calming, so she believed it would be safe to expel her name.

“Tracy, Tracy Richardson.” She said proudly, crossing her legs. She wondered if this would have caused them to notice she was female, but apparently the Engineer didn’t notice at all.

“Lemme introduce y’all t’ my group. Up there next to the darker fellow, the man in the army uniform, is Jane Doe. Yeah, I know, funny name. Just call him the Soldier and y’all’ll be right fine. The darker fellow beside him is named Tavish DeGroot, but we just call him the Demoman.” He explained, and she eventually understood why her name wasn’t all that noticeably feminine. With names like those, she seemed very masculine.

“The larger man is named Boris Ivanov, but he’s called the Heavy for obvious reasons. The scrawnier man next to him is Fritz Behandlen, we call him Medic. Holler for him if you get hurt. That string-bean you were sitting next to earlier is named Billy Campbell, but we call him the Scout.” He pauses to take a breath, reaching to his side to take out a bottle of bourbon and take a gulp before setting it back in its hiding place. It appeared that the Demoman wasn’t alone in drinking. 

“The man in the back, in the suit, we just call him the Spy. He ain’t tellin’ us his name. The other man, the antisocial lookin’ one in the sunglasses is named Mr. Mundy. He hasn’t told us his first name, but I think he’ll eventually warm up to it. But he’s called the Sniper.” He yawned, gently putting his guitar beside him. “And watch yer’self around them BLU folks. They tend to be a bit… bitter.” Nodding, she noted the sun had gone down fast than she had anticipated. She felt the day wear on her too as she yawned, cursing herself for catching it.

“We’ll… eventually stop in an hour or so at a hotel or something and we’ll sleep…” He yawned, and appeared to fall asleep before he could continue. Tracy frowned, allowing herself to close her eyes a moment.

 

-

 

When she awoke, she was hungry as hell. The bus was moving, as if something very heavy had jumped off of the bus, and it had. She looked up, noticing that the rest of the members of the bus had begun to file off. It was still dark, perhaps eleven or twelve at night, and they were sitting at a very dingy looking hotel. But she was too hungry and her bladder too full to care. Shaking the Engineer beside her, she managed to get off the bus and sprint across the space to the door, and to the nearest bathroom. Which was unfortunately upstairs. After emptying her bladder, she went back downstairs, noting that the men had gone into a large dining-area to pick up food. She was too starved to care where they ate, but it appeared they were taking their food upstairs. She went in line with a paper plate, stumbling upon the Sniper dressed in RED garb. He appeared to glance at her a moment, looking to her purple shirt to her face, and back to the food on the table. She shrugged, grabbing the food she could get. A few chicken wings, barbecue sauce, a bit of steak. It appeared they had everything she wanted to eat. She even got a few Brussels sprouts and some salt and pepper. She began eating where she stood, in the middle of the room, not sure where to go. As the Sniper passed by with just vegetables on his plate, she poked him with the back of her fork, hoping to gain his attention.

“Err… ‘scuse me, where are we taking our food?” She asked politely, appearing to surprise him. He frowned deeply, as if he were uncomfortable. He avoided looking at her, his eyes darting to the stairs.

“Upstairs. Pick any room yah want.” He replied hurriedly, and began to step away when she again engaged him in conversation.

“Why’re you just taking vegetables? Are you a vegetarian?” She asked, taking a bite of her steak.

“Err… no. I just don’t trust what goes in those processed foods. It’s better to hunt and kill your food. At least you know what yer’ eating.” He replied, walking and talking, appearing to be somewhat bothered by her talking to him. They went upstairs, the Sniper looking for a room to escape in. He hadn’t planned to talk to anyone. Actually, he rarely did, only when he had to. When it was necessary. And this was just NOT necessary.

“Hey, hey, I’m not gonna bite. What’s wrong with you?” She asked, appearing somewhat insulted, the irritation noticeably in her tone. The Sniper sighed, muttering something under his breath before turning back to her. He appeared revolted, in a word.

“I ain’t a social person, alright? I’m a hunter, a sniper. I don’t wanna get to know you. So please, just leave me be.” He replied curtly before leaving her in the hall, climbing up yet another flight of stairs. He didn’t feel bad by leaving the new guy behind. In fact, he was quite pleased if he hurt their feelings at all.

 Tracy frowned, feeling somewhat insulted and quite rejected before having someone bump into her. 

She turned around, prepared to both insult and complain to the person when she noticed they were in a blue flame-retardant suit and a gas-mask, hiding all their skin from head to toe. She didn’t remember the Engineer talking about this… thing. It muffled an apology, or something of the sort, and giddily hugged her. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. She could both wrestle out of it and escape or she could deal with it. Before she could actually make the decision, the creature had already let her go and began dragging her down the hall and into what appeared to be It’s room. It abruptly let her go, batting one of the separate beds, apparently giddy to have a roommate, willing or unwilling. She supposed it was friendly enough, even if it was a bit creepy. The Engineer’s warning echoed through her head about the men in blue, but she decided the child-like creature in the mask wouldn’t hurt her. At least, not intentionally.

“Uhm… okay, I’ll bunk with you.” She replied to a question that was never asked, and sat upon the bed. The creature squealed with delight, and sat down in the free bed, setting It’s head in It’s hands.

“What’s your name?” She asked, expecting It to pull off It’s mask any moment, but it appeared to have other plans. It took out a lighter from some unseen pocket, turning it on and lighting up It’s bedspread. Panicking, she dropped her food on her bed and began to pat the flame out. 

“Okay, okay! Don’t light anything else on fire. Um… Lemme guess… a Pyromaniac?” She asked. It shook It’s head, making a gesture for ‘smaller’.

“Pyro?” She asked after a moment of thought, and received a hug in return. “Ooookay, Pyro it is.” She chuckled, patting the Pyro’s head. It then let her go, allowing her to continue to eat.

Eventually, the two went to sleep, crumbs on her bed from her food, the smell of stale sweat from the time under the sun. She sighed as she felt herself succumbing to sleep easily. It was a strange, strange day.

Chapter 3:

Tracy’s dreams were fuddled up, mushed together and hard to keep track of. One second she thought blood was trailing down her fingers, the second something huge, a shadow of sorts, came crashing down on her. A face in the darkness, a face she didn’t want to think about. A face from the past…

She opened her eyes, startled awake.

She had been awoken by (thankfully) the sound of a large “BANG!” and many shouts. She groaned, pushing herself up from the bed, slowly making her way to the bathroom. She wasn’t exactly sure where the Pyro was, but assumed that it had gone to breakfast. She slowly brushed her hair, taking her toothbrush from her shoulder pack, slowly getting clean. She was too lazy to change her clothes into anything clean, so she just stayed in what she had worn the previous day. Deciding not to shower, she pulled her shoulder pack and baseball cap, walking outside to find the Heavy and the Soldier in a wrestling match near her door.

“Hey, hey, hold up!” She yelled aloud, causing the two to look up. “Damnit, I just woke up. Can’t yah just go to breakfast?” 

Apparently that was a no, since they began to wrestle once more. Tracy sighed, stepping past the two to go downstairs. There she was greeted by the Engineer in red, who passed her a plate of bacon and eggs. She nodded thankfully, digging in, having a cup of coffee. After everyone eventually ate, they piled into the bus once more and shoved off. Tracy was surprised to find that Miss Pauling was still with them. She hadn’t noticed the woman in purple get on or off the bus. Eventually, Tracy closed her eyes and took a nap, waking up an hour or two later to the sounds of chatter and a bump in the road.

Sitting up, she noticed they were out in the desert. In Kansas, this wasn’t too unheard of, but she had never seen such buildings ahead.

Ahead there were two large buildings, at least three stories, looking like concrete apartment buildings standing far, far apart.  In the middle of these two buildings what appeared to be some sort of battleground. Bullet holes riddled the area, guns and other weapons scattered about. Her mouth fell open, confused. She bumped the Engineer sitting next to her, asking why so many weapons were scattered about.

“’Prolly left there by the last group. Don’t worry, it’ll be cleaned up.” He said smoothly while pulling his tool-box onto his lap. She was getting the feeling this wasn’t a Summer Camp, but was too shocked to say anything.  Tracy frowned, but was distracted by a sign as they went over a dusty and rock-ridden road. The sign said in big, blocky purple letters “Teufort”.

The bus finally stopped outside, a small concrete building residing outside of the battleground, in the middle of the two buildings. The people began to file off the bus, Tracy being one of the last, with Miss Pauling. They began to walk into the concrete building, looking to appear like a locker room.  The men began to line up depending on their color. She wasn’t sure which line to go in, seeing as she hadn’t changed, but was pulled back by Miss Pauling, who ushered her into another room. It appeared to be something of an interrogation room, with two chairs, a desk, and a curtain hiding the rest of the room. Miss Pauling locked the door behind them, and sat at the table, gesturing for Tracy to do the same.

“Now, Richardson, please sign here at the bottom.” She gestured towards a paper sitting on the desk, in front of Tracy. She squinted, reading a bit of the fine print.

“What’s it for?” She asked.

“All we want you to do is be quiet about the weapons. Those are for ‘target practice’, another part of our curriculum.” Explained Miss Pauling smoothly. Tracy had, no, wanted to believe her, and decided to sign her name. Miss Pauling swiftly pulled the paper away and filed it into her purse, as if Tracy were to snatch it away.

“Now, Ms. Richardson… Yes, I know you are female. We sent you the job offer, remember? Anyways, I need to speak about the ‘Camp’… I suppose you already figured out this isn’t a summer camp, correct? Good, it appears you’re smarter than I first anticipated. I’m sorry to say this, but I have lied to you. Multiple times it seems. This is not a summer camp, this is a war. And since you have accepted our offer and signed our waiver— yes, you just signed a waiver— we are not responsible for you if you die. Actually, you are going to die many, many times. You are a recruit, a beta test.” Miss Pauling paused, seeming to rummage through her bag while Tracy seemed to be in shock. Miss Pauling set a pile of clothes on the table, sliding it across the table. 

Tracy took this news in slowly, shock obviously on her face. She was going to die? A lot? Why in the blue hell would they tell her about that?! Well, she supposed she signed a waiver, but still! She felt her heart speed up, her eyes go large.

“You are a Thief. Yes, we know of your past… activities.” 

How in the hell did they know that? She hadn’t told anybody about her mania…

“Mr. Blutarch was surprised when he heard that somebody had… wandered into his storage facility and stole goods. It is actually very surprising, considering the guards around the area and the alarms. Have you been trained in this? No? Interesting. Anyways, we tracked you and found your place of residence, your name, etcetera. Your criminal record is quite amusing, actually. Don’t you think you should have stopped that when you had a chance? I see you got a deal third time around when a group of friends of yours went robbing a family’s house while you thought they were out for dinner. You admitted to the court you saw what they did? Your friends must have been… devastated. You were seeing a psychiatrist for your kleptomania, remember? I see old habits die hard with you…”

“We know of your pickpocketing, shoplifting. You have skill in this, skill that which can blossom under the right setting. You have been hired by Mr. Blutarch to be a mercenary in Builders League United, or BLU for short. He does not know of your gender. If he had, you wouldn’t have been hired. The Announcer, Helen, has… altered your information a bit. It would be wise to keep your gender hidden. Allow the men of both teams to assume you are male. This might be tasking, I understand. This is why I have given you a few things,” She patted the clothes, “To aid you in your task. And, I am sorry to say this, you cannot leave. You have signed a contract and agreed to this work. BLU owns you. But do not worry; you will be receiving your pay...”

Pauling slid a slip of paper across the table, allowing Tracy to pick it up. It was a check, and Tracy was very pleased and surprised by the amount of zeros in front of that number.

“Your pay is not as high as your team-mates will be, so don’t ask them. Your pay is lowered so you may pay back what you stole from Mr. Blutarch. Imagine that you tried to dine and dash, and now you’re the bus boy. But in a more violent setting.” She paused, chuckling. Tracy wasn’t sure if she should take this as an insult, but Pauling continued before she could reply.

“The Medic will be seeing you for your surgery. Yes, surgery. You’ll be awake, but you will not feel pain. Also, you must wear this vest in order to hide your breasts. He will notice, obviously, if you don’t. Say it makes you feel better, whatever, just do it. Now go to your base, it’s the one with the BLU banner. And change into your clothes after the surgery.”

“Wait, I wanna ask a few questions.” Tracy said firmly, gripping her seat tight. Miss Pauling sighed, and nodded.

“I’m gonna die? A lot?” She asked, her breathing wheezy from fright.

“Well, yes. But after the surgery you’ll… come back. I don’t know how, only the Announcer, Mr. Redmond, and Mr. Blutarch know.”

“Do I have to kill people?”

“If you want to die less, yes.”

“What exactly am I going to do here?”

“You will steal the intelligence, that is what you do. The Intellegence is a briefcase color-coded to your team. You will be attempting to take the RED briefcase. You will have weapons and tools at your disposal, and you will also have your team backing you.”

“When can I quit?”

“We have you under contract for two years. After those two years, you may be able to leave, or you can stay of your own will.”

“Can I call my parents?”

“Yes.”

“Can I contact Blutarch?”

“No.”

Tracy sighed, resigning herself to these facts. She was stuck here, and she was going to die. A lot. But she was more comfortable knowing she could call her mother. And the fact that she would ‘come back’ after dying was nice. But she really didn’t want to die a lot. Or kill anyone. Grabbing her clothes, she stuffed the check into her pocket and opened the door and walked outside. It appeared that the men were going to their buildings. The RED Engineer waved, walking over to her.

 _‘I wonder how many people he’s killed_ …’ She wondered to herself.

“Howdy! So, which team’re you on?” He asked brightly.

“Uh… well…” She stepped back, towards the BLU building. The Texan’s smile soured, his expression becoming grim.

“Right... right.” He began, stepping back as well, heading to his own building.

“Hey! Wait! Um... we can still talk, right?” She asked, feeling stupid. The Engineer looked back at her, taking a moment to think before offering her a small smile.

“Yeah… maybe.” He answered, and began walking again. 

Satisfied that she might talk to him again, she headed towards the BLU building, allowing herself to take in the sights.

-

Eventually she made it up a flight of stairs in the BLU building. Her team glanced at her before going on their business, apparently already picking rooms. It appeared she had her own room, a sign over the doorway that said “Reserved for Richardson” on the top. She took the sign down, blushing somewhat, and headed inside. Inside was a small room with a bed, nightstand, desk with a chair, and a drawer. She filled her drawers, put paper on the desk, basically claiming her room. She was surprised to find a small radio. She was also quite surprised to find a small bathroom in the next room connected to hers. It was very cramped with a small light overhead. Luckily there were a few cheap shampoos and a scrubber, no conditioner or body wash to be found. Setting her tooth-brush on the sink, she went back into her room and pulled on the vest she was given under her clothes. It constricted her chest almost immediately; whatever breasts she had were gone. She sighed, stepping back out into the hallway, asking a Soldier where the Medic might be.

“Fritz is probably downstairs, in the infirmary. Go downstairs in the basement and take a right.” He explained, then began walking off, muttering something about ‘Fritz Behandlen his balls’.

Following his instructions, she managed to make it to the infirmary without getting too lost. She opened the door, a blast of cold greeting her. And the sound of cooing.

Walking inside, she was greeted by a large mass of doves, all perched overhead, tilting their heads in curiosity at the recruit. She felt immediately estranged, as if she were being watched by aliens, but shook it off as she looked for the Medic.

Looking about, she noticed a strange sort of gun near a gurney. (This was splattered with blood, not to her surprise) It was large and blue, most likely color-coded to the team, and had a few switches and buttons she was urged to push. Pulling back a lever, she was surprised when a beam of blue light emerged from the gun, hitting her in the face. She didn’t know what to do, having been met with a strange sensation as she breathed it in. She kept breathing, leaning into the source of the light, her brain floating above the clouds. It was pleasurable, not like that of an orgasm, but of something so intense her body shook. She was surprised, however, when the lever was pulled back, the light gone.

She fell down on her knees, heaving in breath. It seemed when you fell from the high, you fell hard. She felt a strong pain in her eyes and the back of her head, gasping for clean air. She heard someone clicking their tongue, as if she was a naughty child having been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Unartig Knab, you should know not to touch someone else’s things without their permission!” Said the Medic, amused.

 

Chapter 4:

Tracy shakily got to her feet, ignoring the laughter from the Medic. She supposed it was somewhat funny, but she wasn’t amused.

“So... hmm… yes, you are here for your surgery, ja? Strip yourself of your shirt and we shall begin.” He nods, stepping over to a sink and washing his hands, slipping on a pair of gloves. Tracy slipped off her top, happy that the vest was able to be opened but still constricting her tightly. The Medic turned around, noting the vest.

“I cannot cut through that vest. Remove it.” He stated whilst removing his lab coat, standing by a surgical table.

Tracy looked from the medical table to the Medic. Damnit, this guy was a doctor! He’d eventually notice that she WASN’T a guy. Might as well get it over with. Stripping her top, the doctor was surprised momentarily.

“Vhat… uhmm... You are female?” He asked, momentarily surprised. This would have been more surprising if he hadn’t been in the field he was in. He’d seen stranger things than a woman in battle, but he was slightly put off by it.

“Err… yeah. So… that’s why I had to wear the vest, okay?” She grunted, crossing her arms, feeling a chill go through her body. The Medic hummed for a moment, not sure how to take this information before patting the bed.

“Lay down. Now explain to me why you are here.”

She did as she was told, the Medic beginning to take out a scalpel, turning on the ray-gun to a low degree. The sensation wasn’t like before; it felt like a low hum going through her body, making her skin vibrate. At least, that’s how it felt to herself.

“Well… I was kind of tricked into this job… I thought this was going to be a summer camp or something. So, I jumped on the bus and I came here. I was kinda stupid, I guess, not noticing all the older guys, but I fooled myself into thinking they were a part of the crew, y’know? Like cooks and stuff? Anyways, I only found out, like, a minute ago that I was going to die a lot. Sooo… yeah.”

The Medic nodded silently, taking a scalpel in between his fingers.

“Now, I am going to cut into your chest. I will not try to… ehm... grope you, ja? Just stay still. And you might feel a prick or two.” He began slicing almost immediately, a strange sensation going up her body. It wasn’t exactly as painful as she had expected, but it was more than uncomfortable.

“So… I am guessing you wish for me to keep quiet?” He asked, finally reaching above her stomach, where he stopped his blade.

“Erhm… Doctor-patient confidentiality, right?” She chuckled, trying not to look down at her chest, knowing that muscle and bone were exposed. The Doctor chuckled somewhat in amusement, leaning down and messing with something in a bag, bringing out what appeared to be a miniature car-jack of sorts.

“Now this will be… unpleasant. I would advise you to stay still.” He then appeared to shift her ribs apart, sliding the jack in between the bones. She bit her lip, feeling bile rise in her throat. Oh god, couldn’t he just do this while she was unconscious?

“The worst isn’t over yet. Help me with this, would you?” He asked, gesturing for her to take her ribs. She shuddered, but grabbed the ribs that were plying apart, feeling her flesh and muscle protest as the bones went in places they weren’t originally supposed to. The doctor began using the jack, with immediately snapped the ribs out of place, eliciting a small yelp of pain from the patient below.

“Yes, that looks good. Just keep it like that.” He murmured, taking the car-jack from her chest and setting it beside the bed. He then took a scalpel, leaning over her in an almost menacing manner.

“You will feel a small prick, and a lot of pain. But do not worry, just keep your eyes open and you will not die.” The Medic said casually as he began maneuvering around her lungs and to her heart, where she began to feel a lung short. “Oops, don’t worry; I’ll put that lung back in place.”

She then felt a huge amount of pain, her breath becoming even shallower, and the room growing dark. She felt something slap at her face, someone yelling at her in a foreign language.

“Vake up, fraulein! The procedure is almost complete!” He yelled as she finally kept her eyes open on her own, feeling weak. At this point, she willingly looked down at her chest. It wasn’t as bad as she had expected, however. Everything looked normal, although her ribs were sticking out and she could see her lungs. (One of them was in the wrong place, but she ignored that)

“Stay awake; I will go get your new heart.” He said while walking over to what appeared to be a fridge, plopping her heart into a glass of what appeared to be water. Tracy took this moment to calm herself, looking around the room. Overhead, she could see Miss Pauling, who appeared to be writing on a clipboard. Pauling shook her head, obviously disappointed she couldn’t keep her gender from the doctor, but wasn’t surprised.

Suddenly, a small dove landed on Tracy’s upstanding rib, tilting its small head at her, the cooing in the room almost like incipit laughter.

“Shoo!” She hissed, thankful that the dove had complied, fluttering back up to its flock.

“I see you’ve met Archimedes.” Said the Medic as he returned with a large heart in his hand, with some sort of small metallic contraption stabbed into it. 

“Ewh, do you think that will even fit in my chest?” She asked with disgust, staring at the heart as if it were a particularly large spider.

“One of these fit inside the Scout’s chest, I’m sure it will for you as well. You are a bit thicker than him, so I suppose.” He lowered the heart underneath the ray, pulling the lever back on the gun, which caused a ray of light to shoot out and envelope both Tracy and the heart. The heart began pumping wildly, erratically until it seemed to absorb the rays light.

“Ooh, zat looks gut…” He muttered to himself, dropping the giant’s heart into her chest cavity, putting her lung back into place. He then helped her snap the ribs back into place, which was still extremely uncomfortable, but a bit less straining on her muscles. Turning the ray back on her and pushing it in somewhat, he pulled back the lever, allowing the ray to heal her back up. Tracy was surprised to feel her breath come back to her, the room growing bright once more.

“So? How do you feel?” He asked, pulling down the hem of her shorts, surprising her with the sudden movement.

“Uhm… good… what in the hell are you doing?” She grunted, suddenly wanting to punch him in the jaw.

“I am implanting a chip into your thigh. This will allow you to respawn, which means you will ‘come back’ from the dead, I suppose.” He explained, cutting into her thigh without much thought, pain striking up her back.

“Owch! Fuck, okay, jeez, just hurry that up!” She cursed, noting that the Medic smirked somewhat at her complaints. The Medic then pulled out a small, blue chip, and stuffed it into the cut he had made. The cut closed after another beam of light from the ray-gun.

“What is that thing called anyways?” She asked, pointing at the glowing ray-gun of sorts.

“It’s called a Medigun, which heals those who are injured without fault. Now off you go, fraulein…” He shooed her away with his hands, looking uninterested.

“You won’t, uhm, mention to anyone I’m a girl, right?” She asked with pleading eyes. The Medic glanced at her a moment before shrugging, turning back to the floor and grabbing her vest and shirt, throwing it at her and allowing her to pull them on before answering.

“I suppose I can keep quiet about it for now, Fraulein. Now off you go.” He replied, and shoved her from the room.

Chapter 5;

Tracy quickly un-tucked her t-shirt from her shorts, grumbling as she stomped back upstairs. It was going to be a loooong time being a mercenary. She was not going to enjoy it. 

Upstairs was a bit warmer, opening up to a large kitchen area. The area was mostly inhabited by the Scout, Engineer, Heavy, and Demoman. Tracy wasn’t necessarily surprised that the Demoman was sober, but he was still drinking at the table. Heavy was eating something, a sandwich it appeared, a large mini-gun at his side sitting on its own chair. The Scout appeared to be trying to engage the Engineer in conversation, while the Engineer was looking over blueprints, appearing to ignore him completely. The Demoman looked up when she entered, a smile splitting his face.

“Ey, look, it’s the new blood!” He cheered, raising his bottle as he stood from the table, taking a swig. He walked over to her, slapping and arm around her shoulders. She felt somewhat uncomfortable with the contact, but rolled with it, pleased he was sober and friendly and not drunk and pissed off. 

The Engineer seemed to glance up at Tracy for half a moment before looking down at his blueprints again. 

The Scout grinned at her, waving. He appeared to be the same Scout from the bus. 

The Heavy didn’t smile, glancing over at her before nodding. Overall, the reception was mixed between not caring and welcoming.

“Um, hi?” She replied, a small smile on her lips as she was dragged over to the table.

“Welcome to BLU! It’s been years since we’ve had any new recruits. Scout over there was our last one; he came here a few years ago.” He pointed to the BLU Scout, who grinned.

“I was nineteen when I killed my first goon. He was trying to rob me, so I BONKed ‘em!” He snorted. Tracy was shocked. _A kid at, what, nineteen, killing people?_ _Jesus Christ, this place was hell, hiring someone at that age. And for what, killing more people?_

“I was hired for my speed. You’ve nevah seen anyone run this fast!” He continued pompously, pointing a thumb at his chest. Tracy rolled her eyes despite herself, finding it more or less amusing than she should have.

“So, uh… Demoman, what do you do here?” She asked, not exactly sure. She knew the word ‘demo’ in the name must be short for ‘demolition’, but that would mean he was a Demolition man. And this was Builders League United. It kind of didn’t make sense, but then again, whole situation didn’t make sense.

“What do I— Bloody hell, lad, I’m the DEMOman. I create explosives, bombs, for god sakes. Do you have any brains in that head fulla eyeballs?” He snorted, taking another drink from the bottle.

“Alright, I was just wonderin’ since the place is called Builders League United.” She shot back, leaning back in her chair.

“So, what’re you?” Inquired the Scout, appearing to have lost interest in badgering the non-responsive Engineer.

“Uh, I’m a Thief, I guess.” She shrugged. This answer got mixed results. The Demoman seem unaffected by the name, while the Engineer seemed suspicious. Heavy immediately appeared protective of his mini-gun, growling like a pit-bull. The Scout tucked in the gold-chain peeking from his shirt, appearing somewhat nervous.

“If you touch Sasha…” Grumbled the Russian, “You are DEAD.” Tracy decided to take that as a promise, not as a threat.

“Uh… Alright, alright, I won’t touch, uh, her.” She replied hesitantly. It wasn’t like she could steal the thing anyways. It looked like, and she was sure it was, a ton.

“Good.” The Heavy smiled somewhat. “Little man and Heavy will be friends then.” The Heavy then continued eating, ignoring the rest of the conversation. She supposed it was a good idea to keep the large man on her side. She’d rather not die by the hands of her enemy, much less her own team.

“So, how’d you get hired?” Asked the Scout, satisfied he had hidden his chain well enough.

“Well… I kind of… stole something from a BLU storage place. It was an accident, though! I thought it was a regular old storage space.” She shrugged, “I stole some money, a few hats, that sort of thing.” This was somewhat of a lie. She stole a lot of money from the storage spaces she could get to around the guards, a few hats, and some nick-knacks she had thought were amusing.

The Scout and Engineer seemed mildly impressed, but otherwise unaffected. The Demoman seemed to drink a bit more before replying.

“Well, s’long as you don’t go fiddling with anything in my room, we’ll be fine.” Responded the Demoman, grinning at her. The friendliness in the room was quickly doused when shouting erupted into the room.

“ALRIGHT YOU MAGGOTS. TRAINING TIME. GET INTO YER’ UNIFORMS AND GET YOUR HIND ENDS OUTSIDE.” Shouted the BLU Soldier, standing at attention near the exit before jogging outside. Everyone in the room groaned, even the Heavy, when the Soldier finished speaking.

“What? What’s wrong with training?” She asked, standing up and pushing her chair back into the table.

“Uhm…Trainin’ ain’t bad.” Drawled the Engineer, finally speaking. His words were slow, as if he were thinking everything out beforehand. “…It’s just the Soldier that bugs us.”

“Yeah, I’d be fine runnin’ round the building if Soldier wasn’t, y’know, screamin’ in my ear all the time.” Piped up the Scout.

“C’mon, he ain’t that bad once he mellows down.” The Scotsman replied, taking one last drink from his bottle before setting it back down on the table, standing up and pushing his seat back in. “He can be pretty fun once that helmet comes off and the handle of his shovel isn’t stuck up his ass.”

They shared a laugh at that one, but Tracy was actually worried. She wasn’t in the best of shape, actually. She was somewhat overweight, something she was actually self-conscious about. It was irritating (but welcome in this situation) that this weight didn’t go where it was supposed to (i.e. her breasts) but instead went to her thighs and stomach and upper arms. She could run fairly quickly when she had to, but only in short bursts, sprinting actually. She couldn’t even do a chin-up.

“Fuck, I’m going to die out there.” She winced.

“Oh, calm down. It’s going to hurt, training and stuff, but it’ll be fine.” Said the Demoman as he walked outside.

“Nope, it’s going to hurt A LOT and it won’t be fine.” Interjected the Scout.

“Shut up, man. Not cool.” Tracy replied, not amused.

“I’m just tellin’ the truth!” Snorted the Bostonian.

With one last look downstairs, Tracy went upstairs and back into her room, grabbing the clothes she was given by Miss Pauling. She spread them out, looking them over.

The shirt was a dark blue turtle-neck with arm-bands on the upper arms, showing a blue symbol of a man in a fedora and cloak. She supposed this was her symbol, the symbol of a Thief. She had seen others wearing their symbol, like the Scout with the shoe with wings or the Heavy with the fist symbol. The pants were a high-waist, dark-tan dress trousers and with a leather belt. Her shoes were shiny and pointed, but appeared they were good enough to run in. Accessories were also included, such as a goofy looking mask that covered her eyes, a ski hat, and a pair of gloves.

“Seriously? Geez, I’m going to look stereotypical…” She muttered, stripping of her clothes and pulling on her new uniform. She was surprised everything fit so well, even the mask, gloves, and hat fitted nicely. _Did they freaking measure her in her sleep or something?_ She didn’t want to know.

Once she was satisfied she wouldn’t look like a total idiot out there, she stepped outside, surprised by bumping the Spy in the hallway.

“Excusez-moi.” Began the Frenchman, surprised by her outfit. “I see I will not be replaced by a total fool of fashion.”

“What do you mean ‘replaced’?” She asked suspiciously. She wasn’t planning on replacing anyone.

“Oh! I mean you will be taking my place every other day. Didn’t Mademoiselle Pauling tell you of this? Non?” He tugged at his mask, drawing on his cigarette. “Unluckily for me, I still must join the group for the torture the Soldier calls ‘training’.” The Spy snorted, walking downstairs. “See you outside, Voleur.”

Tracy joined the group outside, in which they began running laps around the building. It wasn’t as bad as she had expected at first. Laps weren’t too bad, as long as they weren’t racing or anything. The Scout appeared ahead of the group, calling back that he hadn’t even broken a sweat yet on the sixth lap. She was happily surprised she was behind the Medic, who was in second place, if they were being judged. But, eventually the Soldier screamed for them to go faster, and the faster they went, the more tired Tracy became. Eventually she was at the back of the group, huffing and puffing. This was bad because the Soldier was second slowest to the Heavy, which meant he would be right behind her to scream in her ear every half second. Eventually they stopped, doing even more work such as cardio, and shooting a gun to see how their aim was. She was happily surprised her aim wasn’t as half as bad as she thought, but it was nowhere near the Sniper’s, who seemed a little less anti-social than the RED Sniper. Eventually Soldier was begrudgingly allowing people to leave to eat and rest up for the night, but he saw it fit to keep the Thief behind…

-

Tracy was sure she was dying. Her lungs hurt, her body was sweaty, and her ears rang from the constant yelling. She wasn’t sure what time it was, it was at least evening, however, judging by the setting sun. Her stomach cried out for sustenance, but she knew she wouldn’t be allowed to eat until she managed fifty chin-ups. She was on thirteen now, surprised that she could even pull off half of one.

“MOVE IT, MAGGOT. YOU DON’T EAT OR REST TIL’ YOU MOVE YOUR ASS.” Screamed the Soldier after eating a piece of chicken. Crumbs and spit hit her in the face, causing her to shiver in disgust. _This was torture, plain and simple._

-

Finally, she finished the chin-ups, her arms burning and screaming for relief. She had fallen from the bar after she completed the fifty, struggling to get to her knees when the Soldier pulled her up by the hem of her turtle-neck.

“DOWN ON THE GROUND. FIFTY PUSH-UPS.” Ordered the Soldier, dropping her once more into the dirt.

It was going to be a long night.

 

Chapter 6:

 

Tracy had finally woken up on the floor in the kitchen, her head spinning. Sweat had dried on her brow and in her pants. She shivered, opening her eyes, feeling the strain on her muscles as she got to her knees, trying to make her head stop spinning. Outside it was growing bright. The Soldier appeared already awake, stepping towards her and surprising her. She winced, waiting for the screaming once more, and was surprised it never came. 

Instead, the Soldier leaned down and shoved a bowl of oatmeal in her face.

“Eat, Maggot.” He grumbled, leaving her there with a surprised look on her face. Maybe the Demoman was right. Maybe the Soldier was okay when he wasn’t screaming and yelling all the time. Pulling herself into a chair, she ate the bland oatmeal she was given hungrily. When she was finished, her head fell onto the table and she immediately fell asleep.

It felt like two seconds later when the kitchen was abuzz with life. It seemed the Engineer had tapped her on her shoulder to wake her up, taking the bowl of oatmeal and putting it in the sink. People were chattering, some more loudly than others (i.e. Heavy and the Medic, who seemed to be on better terms with each other than the rest of the group) and causing her an ear-ache. Standing up, she decided to go take a shower before she did anything else. She walked back up to her room, hating that they had stairs instead of an elevator, and made her way to her room, where she stripped and took a shower.

Eventually when she was done scalding the sweat off of her skin, she dried off, brushed her teeth, and walked outside naked to find another uniform. She was pleasantly surprised to find more uniforms in her dresser drawer, and pulled one out and put it on. It fit like a glove, just like the last one had. She was just happy she was clean and—

“Ey, Thief!” Said the Scout, busting into her room; she was freaking relieved she wasn’t naked when he busted in, but extremely pissed that he could have come in here.

“Hey, c’mon, fucking knock, please.” She growled, but lost her anger almost immediately.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. C’mon, we’re being called down to do a match.” He grabbed her arm and dragged her from her room, “I got the short straw and I get to show you around the place while we’re doing it. So, y’know, yer’ not totally left behind.”

Tracy was somewhat touched by this gesture, but confused. So they picked straws, huh? Was she a burden, or were they all just selfish and lazy? Whatever, men were men. She didn’t understand them.

They made their way downstairs and out of the building and towards the large arena area she had seen when they had arrived. They entered cement-built buildings once more, albeit smaller. Inside, she was surprised it was clean. In fact, it looked cleaner than the building they lived in. It looked somewhat like a hospital.

“This is the Respawn area. Once you get killed, you’ll pop up right here, no wounds or nothin’.” He snorted. “Now we just gotsa’ta wait til’ the Announcer comes on and says when it’s ready to go.”

“So, uhm, where’re my weapons?” She asked, feeling as if she were going to die and she pretty sure she was. Dread crept up her stomach, making her feel light-headed. The Scout nodded, walking towards what appeared to be a cubby for all of the Classes. It appeared an extra one had been added on to the end.

“This is yer’ weapons.” He pointed to the cubby with her uniform on a hanger and a box in the lower part of the cubby. Weapons were left out, which she accounted for.

There was a shotgun, a pistol, a screw-driver, and small, powdery-looking pebbles. She grabbed them all, wondering what the pebbles were for.

“What’re these?” She asked.

“Those, Voleur, are smoke bombs. You throw them on the ground and they immediately cover the area with a dense smoke. I suppose you may have, judging on the size of these bombs, at least twelve seconds to escape the area before you become visible again.” Said the Spy, coming up behind her and taking a bomb between his fingers. “I would take care not to throw the entire bag on the ground or break the bombs in your pocket.” He set the bomb back into her hand and stood beside what looked like a metal garage door.

“Jeez, only twelve seconds? Well, at least it’s not shorter than that…” She mumbled, putting them in her pants pocket. She looked to her other weapons, finding a strap to go along with her shotgun and a holster for the pistol. She thumbed the screwdriver and decided to stick it in her other pocket, and shiftily waited in the back of the room while the rest of the team filed in, taking their places and chatting nonchalantly. _How could they not worry?! Didn’t they ever think, oh, I dunno, ”what if the respawn doesn’t work?!” or something?!_

The Engineer seemed to notice her fears (seeing how much she was shivering and twitching) and brought her over a cup of water.

“Calm down, y’all not gonna stay dead. Actually, I’ve seen the respawn device. Ain’t nothing gonna go wrong, I promise.” He smiled, patting her on the shoulder. She took a bit of comfort in this, his Texan voice soothing her nerves. She nodded gratefully, downing the cup and trying to calm herself down.

**“ MISSION BEGINS IN TEN SECONDS.”**

Tracy jumped, slightly startled by the booming voice echoing through the arena. There were a few chuckles, but overall they ignored her, seeming to become more serious as the Announcer counted down.

“Just stick by me, ‘kay? Let’s hope you can keep up.” Said the Scout, elbowing her slightly. She nodded, taking the pistol in her gloved hands, her heart beating erratically as the Announcer reached three.

**“ …Two… ONE! BEGIN!”**

The garage-like door opened immediately, her group screaming out war cries as they left the room as if it were on fire.

“LAST ONE ALIVE, LOCK THE DOOR!” Screamed the BLU Soldier, running from the hall and out the door, explosions obviously coming from that direction.

“LET’S DO IT!” Yelled the Demoman after him, taking a drink from his bottle before running out as well.

She squealed as she ran after the Scout, who was just NOT waiting for her.

The Scout ran down the hall and fell down to the next level. Downstairs was basically like a barn, but without any hay or animals. She saw the BLU engineer setting up some sort of gun.

“Sentry goin’ up.” He drawled, beginning to hit the contraption with a monkey wrench.

The Scout sped past the Engineer, going through another part of the hallway. Tracy followed as best as she could, peering out of one of the multiple doorways.

Outside looked like hell, like war. Which it basically was. There was blood splattered everywhere, the BLU Demoman lying on his stomach with blood coming from his face. Limbs were scattered around (perhaps the BLU Soldier’s) and gore was everywhere. She wanted to throw up, averting her eyes from the disgusting sight.

The Scout seemed to jump down, underneath a bridge and into a pipe. Tracy hoped the water wasn’t deep, because she couldn’t swim for the life of her, and she was pretty sure her life was already threatened.

Jumping after him and narrowly avoiding a bullet she flailed her body around until she reached the pipe. _Great, sewers._

“Dangnabbit!” She heard a familiar voice. Turning, she noticed a sentry, or some other contraption, had exploded into small metallic scraps. It appeared the RED Engineer was cursing over it, not paying attention. Maybe she could just sneak past him—

“Nice try, half-Spook.” She heard the Engineer say as she was slipping past him, a wrench in his hands. She narrowly dodged the blow he tried to inflict on her, tackling him to the ground and raising her pistol to his head, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. She really tried to shoot him, she really did.

But she hesitated.

“A little hint of advice from a friend…” He drawled, pulling out his own pistol and aiming it at her face. 

“Don’t hesitate next time.”

Then she saw white.

The next second she was back in the respawn room with her faculties all in check. She shook, yelping somewhat as she opened her eyes. It was if it was a dream, or she had blinked. She rubbed her forehead; sure it was where the Engineer had shot her. But she felt no pain, no wound. So this was the respawn? She was sure damn happy she had it.

Running from the room, she went the opposite way this time around, coming up to a balcony of sorts. Bodies of the BLU Sniper were scattered on the balcony, blood spots obvious. She looked around a moment to get her bearings, wondering if the BLU Sniper was dead or being spawned.

“AGH!”

Tracy turned, hearing the cry of pain. A RED Spy appeared to swagger from the side of the balcony, holding a butterfly knife which was dripping with red.

“Aah, look, a BLU Thief.” He sneered, coming at her more quickly, switching his blade with a revolver. Tracy had to think quick, pulling out her screwdriver and tackled him. _What is up with me tackling people today?_

“Shut. UP!” She hissed, ramming the handle of the screwdriver on his nose. She heard a dull cracking sound and a muffled cry of anger and pain.

“Get off of me, Swine!” He shot back, wrestling her off of him. She fell off of him and on her knees, quickly standing.

 “You got blood on my suit.” He commented with venom, seeming to disappear right before her eyes.

“What? What the fuck?” She hissed, looking around the area and coming up with nothing. Backing up, and not paying attention to where she was heading, she fell from the building and landed on something large and meaty. She slid, falling on her knees and crawling up. Turning, she found herself facing a Heavy and a Medic, unfortunately not on her team.

“YOU!” Yelled the Heavy, pointing at her.

She pointed to herself ironically, smiling nervously.

“Yes, YOU. YOU ARE DEAD.” He began lumbering after her. She felt herself freeze up in fear, even while her mind was pushing her to _get the fuck out of there! Move! Holy shit this is going to fucking hurt._

The first blow threw her to the side of the bridge, blood blossoming from her nose and split lip. She hissed in pain, attempting to get up, her paralysis gone. Unfortunately she was beaten down again. She felt her ribs breaking, her overly large heart pumping when a dull crack was heard. She closed her eyes, expecting it was her skull, but was surprised when she heard the RED Medic calling out in fear, footsteps coming her way. She suddenly felt… better. In fact, she felt amazing! She leapt to her feet, looking around animatedly until she saw the BLU Medic and his ray-gun, which he apparently hadn’t lied about.

“Thanks doctor!” She called. He nodded in response.

“Yo, a little help here?!” Called the BLU Scout, running between the two as a RED Soldier began to come their way. Tracy pulled out her pistol, firing at the charging Soldier. The Medic jumped out of the way, suddenly a bone-saw in his hand. It appeared the Medic wrestled the Soldier down, albeit somewhat ineffectively as the Soldier began elbowing the Medic in the face.

“Hurry up, Schweinehund! Shoot him!” Said the Medic as blood poured down his nose. Mechanically, Tracy stepped up to the wrestling two, putting the pistol right in the Soldier’s face, and fired. The Soldier seemed to spasm somewhat before his face hit the ground, blood dripping from the wound.

“Holy shit, holy shit, I just killed someone.” She hissed, fumbling with her weapon. The Medic appeared by her side, pulling her from the area with one hand, wounds seeming to heal on their own.

“Yes, yes, you can talk about that in therapy, but right now we need to get out of this area before—”

Suddenly, it appeared the Medic’s face had exploded. Gore splattered her face, a surprised look and then one of horror.

“Holy fuck!” She screeched in fear, stepping away from the falling body of the Medic, not sure what to do. She looked up, attempting to find whoever did this, and was surprised when a dot of red light appeared on her forehead.

And then, another flash of white. She was pretty sure she cried out in pain that time as she died.

She was once again in the respawn area, looking around and finding the Medic as well, who seemed somewhat angry. He ran from the room, not even glancing at her. Tracy ran as well, going downstairs once more and accidentally bumping into someone yet again. This time, it was more confusing than frightening.

The person looked exactly like her, albeit in a red uniform. Their turtle-neck was a dark red, their pants a warmer shade of brown. Their hair was perhaps a lighter or darker tone, although it might have just been Tracy trying to rationalize that it wasn’t her.

“Ooh! Another Thief!” She, he, or whatever, it sneered. It raised a pistol at her as it spoke. She quickly dodged from the aim, punching out at its face, which caused it to fall over. They chuckled, a playful tone in their voice.

“Poor wittle Thief doesn’t wanna pway!” Cackled the RED Thief, getting up from the floor. If this really was her, or whatever, they were really fucked up on cloning her. She wasn’t like this, homicidal or insane or whatever.

She grunted, taking her pistol from her side.

“Ooh! You’re getting serious now!” The RED cackled, launching itself at Tracy, who began shooting erratically at them. They seemed to dodge the shots, grabbing her by the neck and slamming her into the wall, raising their screwdriver into her face and bringing the handle down on her like she had done with the Spy. She felt her nose crack, most likely broken.

“You. Should. Just. Give. Up!” It laughed.

“Fuck you.” She spat, blood dripping from her lips. This just caused the RED to laugh even louder.

**“ Fifteen seconds left in the mission!”**

“Oops, well, looks like our playtime had to be cut short!” Said the RED, dropping her. “Well, see you later, PAL!” It kicked her in the ribs just before it left, appearing to have used a Smoke bomb. She coughed, inhaling the lungs, closing her eyes.

**“ Five… four… three…”**

“Jesus Christ, Thief, what’d you do to yourself?” She heard the Scout say, something pulling her up.

**“ Two… one…”**

White.

 

Chapter 7:

**“ Victory!”**

Tracy was greeted by the sounds of cheers as she opened her eyes once more. Her teammates were throwing their hats in the air, hugging each other and grinning broadly. Tracy didn’t feel that great. For one, she just fucking saw a clone or something of herself, and two, she was just killed again. The Demoman hugged her from behind and around the waist, lifting her into the air.

“Haha! That’s the way to do it!” He yelled in her ear, causing Tracy to be shaken from her thoughts, catching sight of the Scout who just entered. He must’ve killed her! Disentangling herself from the Demoman’s hug, she ran over to the Scout, who was cheering along with them.

“Man, what the fuck?!” She yelled, jabbing him in the chest and catching him by surprise. “You didn’t have to kill me!”

The Scout raised a brow, as if the reason why he had killed the newbie was obvious. “Well, I did ‘cause after the match ends, the respawn goes offline. You’d have been stuck with that blood mug til’ the next match, or the Medic raised a finger to help ya. Between you and me, the guy likes to see pa—"

The Medic coughed into his gloved fist, elbowing the Scout behind the neck. The Bostonian hissed with pain, bending his neck as he rubbed at his newest developing bruise. “But, yah, anyways, I didja a favor.”

Tracy huffed, still feeling as if she was going to have nightmares that night. In fact, she was sure she was. All that blood… flesh and bits of bone scattered in the dust. The sound of bullets and screams still rang through her ears. And that clone… those eyes, those wrathful eyes that seemed to say “murder”. 

Dammit all, she wanted to go to bed, and not to dream.

The group lingered a moment before flowing out of the area and back to the BLU building.

\--

“Yo! Pass the mash potatoes!”

Tracy rolled her eyes, putting an amount on her plate before handing it off to the Scout. Her plate was small at the beginning, not feeling like eating because of those flashing scenes in her head, the exposed muscle and flesh on the ground…

She shook her head from those thoughts. The Soldier had shoved a steak onto her plate, ordering her to eat it if she tried to argue. She supposed she saw his point; she needed to eat in order to fight in matches and stay healthy. And train, of course.

“Well, you weren’t exactly the all-star we were expecting,” began the Medic, the table hushing somewhat as he spoke to the Thief. “But you weren’t a terrible beginning. At least you didn’t start crying.”

That was a comforting thought, actually. She used to be a cry baby, crying whenever she got caught for shoplifting or in court during her friend’s trial. She was surprised she didn’t even have a raspy throat. Maybe it took a while to feel the shock, she had no idea.

“Yeah, well, uh, thanks.” Tracy muttered, looking from the Medic to her plate, noticing the Soldier glared across the table at her, so Tracy shoved a piece of steak in her mouth.

The table remained quiet for a moment while they ate and drank (mostly the Scotsman drank) until they finally hit dessert, which was a rare treat for the mercenaries. The Pyro came out from the kitchen, the fire alarm blaring, holding a pie in one hand and a cake in another.

“Is that apple pie? That’s the American’s pie!” The Soldier grinned enthusiastically, taking a slice as soon as the Pyro set down the tin.

“Err, actually, it’s more of a British pie… It was invented by the British…”  The Thief muttered under her breath, receiving a stare of such magnitiude she didn’t even bother to look back.

“As I said, it’s America’s pie.” The Soldier reconfirmed for everyone, and nobody dared argue.

“Uhm…” Tracy piped up after a moment, wiping steak sauce from her lips (with the back of her sleeve, to the disgust of the Spy) and trying to gain everybody’s attention. “Can I ask why there was another Thief on the opposite team that looked exactly like me?”

The room was suddenly silenced. Even the Pyro in the kitchen had stopped mumbling a happy tune underneath its mask.

“… We don’t talk ‘bout it.” Began the Texan, hesitating a moment like the rest at answering. “We don’t question it. I’d rather not think about the RED Engineer.”

“But… but he looks exactly like you… but he’s different. Like… he talks louder and he’s more friendly…” She tried to push the subject to the Engineer, who subtly began ignoring her by putting on his noise-cancelling earphones.

“And… And the Sniper! He’s quieter than you!” Tracy pointed to the Sniper, who tipped down his hat in order not to look at her. “And meaner, I must say…”

“My… whatever it was… was insane… those eyes. They just— they just stared right into me. That Thief was sadistic… cruel…” The words came from her lips in a haunting tone. “Why… why would it act like that?”

“We don’t know, really.” Murmured the Spy, wiping his lips on a napkin like a proper fellow. “My doppelganger appears to be more or less civilized as myself, yet… darker. I am not sure how to explain it. Indeed, they are sadistic, and I admit I might be as well, but not to the level they take it…”

The table was no longer cheery as the topic of doppelgangers was dropped. Tracy didn’t regret it, however. She had to ask sooner or later, and now she knew something was not right, even more so than it already was.

Tracy quickly finished dinner, grabbing a soda before running up the stairs and to her room, where she grabbed a notebook from a desk, scribbling down on it.

_Are they hiding something? Is it because I am new here, that I cannot be trusted with such secrets? I am indeed curious, but estranged, frightened. Why did the Red Thief look so…terrifying? I swear I will have dreams of blood and flesh and those maniacal eyes. Will I be begging for mercy next time I encounter them? I know it will be succourless, but I must try to live with this. I am forced to either way. I doubt I could escape from this place with my life, and including the legal papers I had signed, even going back home would bring nothing but trouble to my mom._

_I guess I should probably write her, but I won’t mention anything to her about this… monstrosity of a place. She doesn’t need to worry about me, seeing as she has two jobs just to keep her house. Dad is gone; he’s been gone since I was twelve. Damn, this is sounding like a journal or something._

_I guess I should write a journal, considering that it might help me. I do not know, there doesn’t appear to be councilors here. Heh, ironic. Sent to place where I thought I would be a counselor, but instead, I need counseling. Ah well._

_It’s what? May twenty eighth. I guess I should keep track of the date too. I’ll mark the days off until I’m released. I wonder if all the calendars here have pin-ups of girls on them. I hope nobody’s, uh, “released” themselves on it._

_Well, I suppose I will write here later._

_Tracy Richardson._

 

Closing the notebook, she set her new journal into the desk, turned off the lights. She then undressed in the dark and fell into her bed, ignoring the need to brush her teeth. Damn.

Chapter 8:

_Hey MOM!_

_Yeah, I ain’t one for “dear such-and-such”, as you know. I guess I just feel really ~~shi~~ crappy right now. I mean, I’m getting along pretty well here. Nobody’s mean, nothing to trigger me into indulging into my kleptomania. Okay, maybe a little bit, but nothing worth that much. I don’t mind that I’m bunking with a bunch of guys though— and don’t worry, they think I’m a guy too! I’ll just let them hang onto that._

_Mom, I kinda got this scholarship thing going on over here. This woman said after this summer that I could apply for a two year scholarship! Not many people have applied and she really thinks that I have what it takes (She looked over my grades and stuff) so that is totally awesome! I hope you like it too._

_Also, do you think you could send over some of your food sometime? None of the guys here are allergic to nuts, at least I don’t think so. Frenchy might be, but he probably just wants to fit in his suits._

_Oh, right. We also got some foreigners here too. There’s a Russian and a German guy and a French one too. I think one guy’s Irish, or is it Scottish? I guess it’s all the same, just the territory. But don’t tell him that! He’ll be so ticked if he reads this; which he thankfully won’t. We’ve also got a Texan here too, nice soothin’ voice, and some kid from Massachusetts. Mom, how do you deal with some guy yellin’ in your ear all day? Dad had military training right? Mind sending over a journal of his? Sorry if it brings back bad memories, but I think it might help me through this stuff over here._

_The yelling guy’s just an over-enthusiastic American; I guess he’s a veteran. He’s got all the medals and stuff to prove it. He yells at us in the morning to get to exercising. All the kids give him a wide berth whenever he’s around, but he’s kinda nice once you see him when he’s off duty._

_Guess what you should thank him for! I’ve lost at least five pounds over the last two weeks. I know, it seems WAAAY too short, but seriously, my clothes are a little baggy now! And all thanks to the yelling guy. It’s just the strict physical exercise he has us do almost every day. He holds me back at the end to do more work, but I’ve been getting way better. At least you’ll be happy about that, huh?_

_Well, I think I lied a bit earlier about nobody bothering me. There’s this one chick that’s kinda like me, but not like me at all. Sorry if that’s a bit confusing, but I’m just really unnerved by her. Like all the cruelty and anger that I don’t have was pushed onto her. But it’s not like we’re CLONES or anything!_

_I’m also writing a journal now, like you told me to do over and over again (see, this was a good idea!) and I’ve found down time to do a bit of studying (they don’t have much of library here, mind you. It’s like a prison!). You don’t have to worry about me being malnourished or getting into rapey situations— I got a shower in my room, kinda low on body wash, but I can deal._

_So, how’s everything back home? Has dad called at all? I know you haven’t been getting on very well after your break. I’m sorry about the incident when I was twelve, okay? Sorry we were gone so long. I just thought I could trust him ‘cause he’s my dad, you know? I know you don’t blame me, well; maybe you blame me a little. I just wanna say I’m sorry that we missed out so many years. How many was it? Six? I’m so sorry. But I ain’t taking the whole blame, so moving on from that depressing note…_

_Have you heard anything from…Victor yet? I know you don’t like to talk about him. Neither do I, but I think I’m too far away to get any news about him on the T.V. I don’t like that he ran out either. He knew what he had gotten into. Hopefully they catch him soon._

_Okay, ignoring those last two sad subjects let me just ask the basics:_

_How’re you? Are you taking your medicine? Remember your vitamins too. I know you’re still young enough to have more kids’ mom, but honestly you aren’t going to do THAT again. I’m enough of a pain in the ass, literally._

_How’s work? I know advertising really isn’t your thing, but I think you’re doing quite well for yourself if you ask me. At least we were able to keep our house, selling a few things notwithstanding._

_Do you need anything? I’m getting a pretty solid amount of pay up here; can lend you a dollar or two whenever you need it. And do NOT say no if you need it, mom. I’ll be watchin’ you._

_Whoops! Sorry, gotta get going. Didn’t know we were having a game today. Yeah, we play these big games once and a while. I plan on getting my doppelganger back today; we almost lost because of her. Wish me luck, and give dad my best!_

-          _Tracy_

Tracy closed her eyes, wiping away the crumbles of dirt that had settled on her brow. She had just made it out of the kitchen after the match was over. Things seemed to be looking up for her at the moment. Her earlier mentioning of the doppelgangers had blown over (which took a long time, considering the almost xenophobic effect the mention it had on her teammates), and she was re-accepted back into the loop of mercenaries. They hadn’t won this time, but she made a point by stealing the enemy team’s briefcase and even had the opportunity to use her smoke pellets. With her first major contribution to the team having been noted, she had been offered a drink of vodka (courtesy of the Heavy, which she accepted out of both fear and appreciation) and soon they settled back to their original routine. 

Tracy didn’t mind, she was quite happy to be back in her room. It had been a month since she had wrote anything to her mom, and she had been getting a bit antsy on what to write home next. It felt as if nothing but a day had passed since she had been here, despite her changes. She had lost much more than five pounds since last time she wrote. Only a bit of tummy fat spilled from her sides when she pulled on her regular pants and her thighs no longer brushed together when she walked. She felt like a new man— whoops, woman. Sometimes she almost forgot what she truly was. Thankfully Miss Pauling made sure that her womanly accidents were never found out, and her feminine products were delivered to her in secret. 

But Tracy found something weird happening. She had begun to _notice_ her teammates. And not just look at them and listen, but actually take an interest in them. Mom had warned her at one point in her life she would become boy-crazy, she just didn’t expect it here and now. She thought that being obsessed with boys was something thirteen year olds do, but apparently she was a late-bloomer on that category. 

Someone in particular had caught her eye. Well, two particulars, if you could the other team.

For whatever reason, she found her team’s Demoman to be… interesting. Whatever it was— his voice, his throaty laugh or those warm caramel eyes that fell on her whenever she smiled— seemed to snap her like a bungee-cord from the fall of death. She wasn’t quite sure what it was about him, maybe because he was warmer than them all. She wasn’t sure. But she wished she was closer to him. Too bad she had to keep up the guise of masculinity, or she might have been on him like butter on bread.

One time, the Demoman had caught her staring, raising one eyebrow above his patched one, sticking out his tongue in a teasing manner. “Mind takin’ a picture? I’d like t’ see what’so fascinatin’ about me. Y’could point it out if yah like.”

“I-I wasn’t looking AT you, I was looking over your shoulder!” She protested, her face turning a lovely shade of pink before standing from the table (and almost knocking over her seat), promptly stomping over to the living room (which wasn’t really a living room, just a room with a dumpy pair of couches, an arm chair, and a really old and beaten television) and sunk down in a chair, nursing a cup of vodka (the beverage she seemed to had grown a liking to). She managed to avoid staring again, but sometimes she couldn’t resist giving a peek at him.

And then, the second particular man that caught her eye; the RED Engineer. Nothing bad on the BLU one, per-se, she just found the RED one to be quite more of the party-goer. He was pleasant and sweet to be around, even if he was on the RED team. They had been able to talk in private once or twice, and she found he was just as friendly as he was on the bus, maybe even more so that his team had won recently. She found his accent to be lulling, and she even found the courage to ask him to play his guitar for her once. She almost fell asleep on his shoulder one time near the bridge of Teufort, and was prodded awake.

“I ain’t yer’ pillow, Doll.” He had murmured, and she had the fleetest expression he was amused. 

“Doll?” She cocked a brow at the pet-name, receiving a large smile.

“Y’all seem so tiny, like a porcelain doll m’ mum used to collect. Mind, they always broke while my father was bangin’ around in the garage and causin’ explosions. Drove her crazy.” He chuckled at the memory. Tracy was surprised he was giving out such information.

“Well, I ain’t a porcelain doll. I haven’t broken...” She snorted, and promptly began chewing on the cuticle of her middle finger, as if proving she had flesh. 

The Texan gave her a grin, “Yet.”

Waving away those thoughts, she promptly set over to the bathroom to wash out her hair and get clean. She was always dirty now, from the matches over at Teufort to the daily training exercises, and sometimes she would get into wrestling matches with the Scout (friendly, of course. The Soldier wouldn’t tolerate actual fights.).

As soon as the hot water touched her skin, she hissed, grabbing a hand towel to pat at a few scrapes on her skin she had neglected to get checked by the Medic. If what the Scout said was true, she decided not to bother asking the Medic to heal them. Plus, scars would look cool there. She’d just have to tell her mom she tripped and skinned her arms on a rock.

She quickly washed out her hair and body, resolutely picking at a pimple on her forehead before self-consciously reprimanding herself, and dried herself off. The pathetic light overhead flicked ominously, and she dared to hope they didn’t have a power outage again. It sucked out in the desert without any air conditioning, even more so with a bunch of surly older men just begging to pick a fight. Tracy decided to just comb through her hair quickly and brush her teeth, skipping out on the opportunity to floss. After a moment’s hesitation, she slipped out of the bathroom, turning the light off behind her. 

Checking the door was locked this time around, she dropped the towel she had around her waist and began pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top that just barely hid her binder. She had bought the binder after finding it wasn’t as bulky as the vest she had been given, and not too expensive to put a dent in her money.

Running a hand through her hair, she decided she would have to get it cut sooner or later, or the Soldier was going to buzz-cut it like he had threatened the Scout with. Just a bit of her bangs were visible in front of her eyes. Like hell she was going to get her hair half-shaven.

Yawning, she checked the time. Nine eleven. The Soldier was going to be stomping around any moment, yelling for the men to go to bed. Of course, none of them really obeyed, but sat in their rooms until the Soldier plowed into his own room. Luckily he was a deep sleeper. But she had grown to the usual bed time that had been forced upon her. Shuffling over to her bed, she climbed into the cot, pulling the covers over her face and turning off the light before the Soldier would come in, and promptly turned her head to the wall and drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 9:

The move to Coldfront was a sudden one. She had been sleeping soundly in her bed when it sounded like a horde began to move through the building. Her awakening was sudden; her eyes immediately alert as she hopped to her feet, fingers curling around a tire-iron she had “borrowed” out near Engineer’s room. For self-preservation, of course, in case the RED Thief came over to kill her in her sleep. Which was cheating, kind of, but she hadn’t encounter the RED Thief anywhere but the field, so that was good for her.

The Medic burst through the door, a wooden box full of his supplies and his favorite dove, Archimedes, on his shoulder. He looked flustered, slightly red in the face. “Grab your things! We must hurry, or we will miss the train, and it will not wait up for you!” And he quickly turned and ran.

Understanding the need for speed, she stuffed her feet into her sneakers, grabbing as many clothes as she could and stuffing them into her old shoulder bag haphazardly along with a few other essentials.  She made quick work, flying out of her room and down the stairs, surprised to find the Sniper taking his good old time.

“Wha— don’t you know the train is a’comin’?” She was out of breath, huffing and puffing as her eyes darted between the door and the Sniper.

“Yup.” He replied simply, stuffing his mouth with a waffle, his eyes peering out from his sunglasses.

“Well— you’re, well, we’re gonna be late!”

“Not really.” He shrugged.

“Oh, how’s that?”

“I gotta van out back that I can ride out in.” He drank from a glass of orange juice, running his tongue over his teeth, almost wincing from the acidic affect it had on his teeth.

“Well…” Her eyes once again fixated from the Sniper and to the door. “Mind if I hitch a ride?”

The Sniper took a good look at her, squinting through his shades as if he could read her thoughts. She shuffled, still wearing her pajamas, somewhat squeamish by the look. Like he had spotted a limping animal, and of course, he was a hunter.

“Please, man? I’ll pay you back.” She pleaded, frowning at him. She hated making deals, because she always got the shit-end of the stick.

The Sniper let out a little sigh, as if he had folded in a poker game when he could have won if he stuck it out. “I guess. Go get dressed and eat something first. I don’t plan on taking many pit-stops.”

She beamed at him— really, actually smiled. This was something that had become a rarity, her smile. Since the battles, and her encounters with the RED Thief, she had begun to curl into herself, ignoring her teammates around her. She truly appreciated his help, even if all she could show was a smile, and a thank you. Speaking of— “Thanks.”

“’Course. Now hurry your ass up. Burnin’ day light.” He let out a small smile, continuing to eat while he watched her dump her stuff before her feet and scamper back up the stairs.

She did as she was told, pulling on a t-shirt overtop her tank-top. It might be hot during the day, but it got real cold at night, so she tied a sweater around her waist. She hoped this wasn’t too feminine, she had seen the Scout do this once or twice, but got berated for it. Combing her a-bit-too-long hair, she brushed her teeth and washed her face, bolting back down to the kitchen to find that the Sniper was waiting for her, holding out a chocolate pop tart that was toasted. She smiled, a blush feathering her cheeks before following him out to his van.

His van was more like a mobile home. Inside it smelt strongly of cigarettes and rem oil— the type you cleaned your firearms with. The air was stuffy and stale, and the kitchenette’s windows barely cracked open to allow you any fresh air. The air conditioner was broken, which the Sniper explained he had meant to ask the engineer to fix it, but had been preoccupied.

She made herself comfortable in the passenger seat, managing the roll down the window beside her, the shoulder bag on the floor tucked close to her seat. Her fingers traced burn marks where cigarettes had been neglected and fell onto the leather. Tracy snapped to attention when the Sniper sat at the driver’s seat, and started the engine.

Soon they were pulling away from Teufort. It felt like the shitty half-way house she never had and never wanted. At least she was going someplace new.

As they pulled away, she caught sight of familiar RED garb and a skinny string-bean of a kid. Her eyes widened almost painfully wide when she saw it was the RED Thief, clinging to the RED Scout, the two sitting on a four-wheeler. The Thief sneered, flexing her fingers in a sort of mechanical wave, and cackled at the look on Tracy’s face. Those eyes, goddamn those eyes—

Soon the two sped off ahead of the van, and Tracy was very much thankful for it. She hated that she felt so weak and pitiful around that demon creature of a woman.

“Want a cigarette?”

Tracy was surprised by the voice, almost having forgotten that she wasn’t alone in the van. She seemed to hesitate on her answer before denying. She had promised never to smoke, and wasn’t planning on breaking that promise yet. The Sniper shrugged, quietly studying the Thief out of the corner of his eye (luckily the road was very clear, so there wasn’t too much of a chance of crashing. He seemed to sense her nervousness, and frowned.

“Hey, open that glove compartment, will ya?” He pointed to the compartment that she was resting her knees on, “Watch the lightbulb down there, it gets hot.”

She followed his orders, careful to not touch the dangling light as she opening the compartment. “What am I looking for?”

“’The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,’” he replied as he took a draw from his cigarette. Tracy raised a brow, but didn’t question it, searching through all the discarded papers and parking tickets til’ she found the weathered and torn up old book. It looked like an original copy. “Read it to me.”

“Won’t that distract you?” She frowned at him, raising a brow.

“I got my eyes on the road and my ears on you.” He replied again, vaguely shrugging a shoulder without a care in the world.

“Alright…” She cleared her throat, “ _You don't know about me, without you have read a book by the name of “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer,” but that ain't no matter.  That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly.  There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth.  That is nothing.  I never seen anybody but lied one time…_ “

\--

 

“… _Tom's most well now, and got his bullet around his neck on a watch-guard for a watch, and is always seeing what time it is, and so there ain't nothing more to write about, and I am rotten glad of it, because if I'd a knowed what a trouble it was to make a book I wouldn't a tackled it, and ain't a-going to no more.  But I reckon I got to light out for the Territory ahead of the rest, because Aunt Sally she's going to adopt me and sivilize me, and I can't stand it.  I been there before._ ” She slapped the book closed, pleased that she hadn’t choked a word a single time as she read it. “ _The End. Yours truly, Huck Finn._ ”

The sky had darkened as she had read from the book, only taking a break once or twice to grab something to drink. She was damned hungry now, and there was nothing to be seen nor found on the road except more road. The headlights of the van stabbed into her corneas. Turning off the flashlight she had used once the sky had gotten too dark to see the pages properly, she turned to the Sniper. “So, how much longer til’ we catch up to the train, Mr. Mundy?”

“Mundy’ll do.” He commented on the name, raising a brow at the fact that she actually used it. Only the Spy used it, and that was when to annoy him. Was the Thief teasing him? “I’d say we’ll meet up there tomorrow if I keep drivin’ til dawn.”

“That ain’t healthy— damn, I’m catching that twang from the book.” She laughed, relaxing into her seat. She had grown used to the smell of tobacco that seemed to saturate the air. Her eyelids felt heavy. “I guess I’ll take a nap. Wake me when we switch.”

“Right.”

\--

Tracy was awakened by a bump in the road.

Her neck had a crick in it from it leaning on her shoulder. The light breeching the window alerted her that it was at least eight or seven o’clock in the morning. Turning lazily, she found the Sniper was wide-awake. Although it was hard to tell, he was already wearing his sunglasses.

“Morning?” She asked, her voice slightly hoarse from speaking so much.

“Yup.” He greeted simply.

“You tired at all? You’ve been drivin’ all night, as far as I know. We can switch out anytime you want.”

He plainly shrugged a shoulder.

“Well, I’ll make some coffee and something to eat, I guess.”  She stood, walking over to the tiny kitchenette and rummaging through the fridge and a few drawers. There was barely anything to eat or make, except for soup, toast, and a pack of crackers. The coffee maker groaned loudly as it began to pour out the sweet, sweet nectar of life; caffeine. 

She hadn’t noticed before, but was it cold? She shivered, thankful that she had tied her sweater around her waist. She pulled it on, hugging her chest in order to try and keep some heat. Turning to a window, she caught the sight of snow-flakes blowing in the breeze. Her teeth chattered loudly.

“Any heat in this tin-bucket?” She asked, trying not to complain.

“It’ll take a while, but yeah.” There was a sound as he began turning a knob. “I didn’t turn it on, didn’t know if you minded the cold.”

When the coffee maker was finally done, she grabbed a couple of clean mugs, pouring each of them a cup. She set them on the dash, distributing the proper amounts of sugar and cream. She sipped hers— liking her cup a dark black with just enough sugar to keep it from being unbearably bitter— and glanced out the window to study the scenery. She noted how the winds picked up, and gave a smirk when she realized that the RED Scout and Thief were probably freezing their asses off out there.

“We’ll be there in an hour.” He said after a moment, taking a long gulp of his cup and glancing over at Tracy. She felt grimy, not having showered that morning. Her hair was probably sticking up all over the place. Which was okay, but she was self-conscious about it.

At last, the heat kicked into gear. She pushed her toes up to the grate, sighing happily when her feet were properly toasty. She kicked her feet onto the dash, noting the Sniper’s haughty look at the action, and smiled to herself. She hadn’t talked much to the Sniper beforehand, so it was nice to get to know him a little bit.

“We never have this weather back in Kansas.” She commented, trying to strike up a conversation.

“Yup.” 

“I… uh… You’re  from Australia, right?”

“Indeed.”

“Get any winter down there?”

“’Course there is. Nice places too, if you know where to look.”

“Cool… cool…”

There was an awkward pause. She wondered if he felt it too.

“You know I’m just tryin’ to get to know you, right?”

He nodded.

“Okay, Mundy, how about I just tell you something about myself? Trade?”

He cocked a brow at the word, but said nothing.

“I’m a kleptomaniac. But don’t worry; I won’t swipe any of your shit.” She snorted.

If he was at all worried, he didn’t show it. “I’m an assassin.”

“I just thought you were a hunter.” She pursed her lips.

“Well, they don’t call me the HUNTER, do they?” He replied sarcastically, adjusting his glasses. The sun was getting higher in the sky. “Why would they need a Hunter?”

“Never mind that.” She shook her head, “How’d you become one?”

He kept a pointed silence.

“I started stealing from grocery stores when I was twelve. I got caught when I was fifteen at a Wal-Mart packing two hundred dollars in merch.” She smiled, as if it were a fond memory. “I fucking cried my eyes out, I was so scared.”

This seemed to draw a smile out of him. “Alright. Well, I was a hunter before I killed my first man. I was in the desert. Sun beating on my back, crouchin’ down in the dunes, trying to catch sight of something. Something felt off, as if something had scared all the game out. Then I found that the place had been cleared off by this man, a man I will not name, but he and I had a deep hatred towards each other. He simply hired a bunch of hunters and hushed the police as he killed all that wild-life, just to spite me and my hunting. That night, I climbed a tree outside his house and shot him in the back of the skull. His wife screamed like a pig for slaughter. I immediately high-tailed it out of there and made it back home, burying my rifle in the sand. But the police never came for me. They suspected it was a wild-life preserve activist that did the deed. Poor bloke, stuck down in a cell for me.” 

“Well, your story’s better than mine. Continue, if you would.” She commented, nibbling on a cracker and gazing at him in awe.

“After that, I just went back to hunting again. A few people had suspected me of killing him— they said nobody was a better shot than me, and the only tree in the area was away too far for an amateur preserver type they got in the brig. But they were silence somehow, and I sure as hell didn’t do it. The Spy, our team’s, approached me in a bar asking to back him in a recon mission. This was back before we joined BLU. I didn’t know what in the hell he did in there, but it started up a fight like you wouldn’t believe. They swarmed like fire-ants, and I picked off every single one of them. After that job was done, I began extending my hunting to assassinations. The Spy was picked up before I was, and introduced me to Miss Pauling, who mentioned me to the Announcer who mentioned me to Mr. Blutarch. And here I am.”

She stared at him a moment, almost in awe. That sounded pretty awesome to her, at least. She didn’t exactly ask if he enjoyed himself while he was killing, but it sounded like he was. 

“Aha, there we go.”

Tracy turned, spotting their new home. Coldfront.

\--

It was exactly as cold as the name implied. She grabbed her stuff quickly and hightailed her ass into the BLU building before she died of hypothermia. The Sniper followed quickly after, hugging his arms to his chest, shivering violently.

“Took you two long enough.” Said the Demoman, raising his bottle. “Cheers to the new scenery.”

She rolled her eyes, dumping her stuff near the door. She’d deal with the living arrangements later.

“Oh, hey.” Greeted the BLU Engineer, giving her a distant smile. “There’s this man who said he came here to visit…”

Who would try to visit her out here? The weather was terrible. Would it be her mom? No, the Engineer said man, not woman. Maybe her dad or someone in college or high school?

It felt like an icicle had been stabbed through her throat. She gaped like a fish, slowly turning towards where the Engineer gestured to. He came slowly up to her, his movements slow as if he were fighting through water. This was probably just because she was in shock, however. He looked the same as she had saw him last; platinum blonde hair so thick it almost looked like buttermilk cream, and light celeste blue eyes that glimmered in the light overhead.

She licked her chapped lips, “Victor.”

Chapter: 10

"Victor?" She asked again, her voice hoarse. Her teammates took notice of her reaction, their eyes fixated on the pair. Tracy wanted to embrace him, press her lips to his neck and her nose into his hair, but didn't. For many, many reasons besides her betrayal. He hated her. Why was he here? To make amends? Most likely not, but she couldn't help but hope for it.

"Tracy." He smiled, his voice soft and silky and warm despite the cold air that lingered on her skin. The Sniper beside her felt as if he were intruding in their reunion, taking a step towards the rest of the group who watched these events unfold.

"It's been... man, almost a year since I've seen you." He continued, taking a baby-step towards her, smile unwavering. He studied her appearance, "You got a haircut."

"Yeah." She felt the nostalgia washing over her. The night they met in a parking lot when she was being chased by mall cops and he gave her a ride, and they luckily weren't caught. Breaking into a store in the dead of night to watch R-rated films and eat candy. The nipping cold of Christmas when they broke into a house and pilfered all the presents underneath the tree, beautifully wrapped up. And then Victor wrestling his way out of a police officer's grasp and escaping into the woods while the rest of her group were shoved into police vehicles.

"You... look good. How have you not been caught yet?" She breathed out the question finally, her voice almost pleading for him not to judge her.

"You'd be surprised." He tilted his head somewhat; those thick locks sweeping down and being brushed back by his long fingers. Those fingers were perfect for picking pockets. "I just never waited around to be caught. Stayed in houses of rich people while they were on vacation, never left a trace."

They remained quiet a moment, studying each other with their eyes before Victor suddenly turned, gesturing with a hand. "C'mon, I need to talk about something private with you. Mind, gents?"

Her teammates shrugged, murmuring their consent as they watched the pair go into the kitchen and close the door behind them. Victor sighed, releasing any stress he had, stretching out his long tan arms and turning to Tracy, his smile gone from his pink seashell lips.

"It's indeed been a long time." He began slowly, measuring each word with a tiny bit of venom. She saw his tongue flash before his white teeth. Or what used to be his white teeth. Apparently when he meant he never left a trace, that meant he never used a tooth brush either.

"What a place you got here." Which was code for 'what are you doing here?'.

"Yeah, I guess." She shrugged noncomically.

"Seems nice enough."

"Well, I was kinda forced into working with these guys, so I don't think you should be at all envious of me." She shrugged, trying to downplay her situation while making it sound like a pain, which was kind of hard to do. "I mean, daily training that makes you wanna die, and then battling, stuff like that. But I can take it."

"I'm not here for a job." Victor let out a sigh.

"Then what are you here for?" She tilted her head in question, feeling their conversation going downhill.

"Here... to talk." He inched towards a table, pulling out a chair for himself. It seemed that his manners had gone downhill fast.

"Alright... then talk." She nodded, sitting across the table. She felt her screwdriver digging into her back pocket, but she didn't dare show discomfort or remove it.

"I couldn't follow the trial very well, leaving no traces was hard, and getting a newspaper is even harder. What happened?" He asked feverishly.

"As far as I know, the twins were given a couple of days in prison and then had a bit of parole." The twins were a boy and a girl, Angelica and Aaron. They were the techies of the group, knowing every crack and crevice and detail of any electrical device ever. They were especially talented at electrical locks too, and turning off and disabling alarms before they even started. Tracy and the two had been acquaintances since kindergarten, but hadn't been close until they caught her pick-pocketing on a school surveillance camera. Since they were cool, they deleted the tape and approached her about her skills and offered their own. They were mischievous pair, but they were always nice. She wasn't quite sure, however, how forgiving they were now after prison. "And Micah..."

Tracy was pretty sure Micah had resisted arrest and had been given "assaulted a police officer" added to their list of offenses. Micah was probably still in jail, although he was usually a good kid, but his anger just sometimes released and he was out of control. She was just happy he was still alive, the officer had threatened to use a stun-gun on him, which wouldn't have ended well with his heart condition. "... still in the clink, I think."

Victor gave a low whistle, as if he were disappointed. "I just hope he's okay in there. Y'know, he's a good kid. He's just a bit like a soda bottle ready to pop."

Tracy nodded in agreement, truly hoping he was alright. He probably hadn't forgiven her just yet, or probably ever, but that was alright as long as he was okay. "So, is that all you're here for? To catch up?"

"Not exactly. Y'see, I might not have heard about their sentences, but I did hear you took an deal. Why?" He paused, mustering up his anger. "Remember that we all agreed to stick together when we were caught?" He hissed, and she lowered her head in shame. She could feel the anger he had hidden earlier that had begun seeping out, and anyone who knew him for a while knew his anger was dangerous. His arms were long enough to strike her over the table, so she casually moved her arm towards her back pocket.

"You're a mighty fine traitor, y'know? You could possibly pass as a Spy."

Tracy jerked her head up, staring at Victor who lean against his chair, smiling in amusement at her expression.

"How would you know anything about us?" She whispered, slightly unnerved.

"I've been watching you." He replied casually, his fingers caressing the curves of the table.

"You've been spying, haven't you?" She growled, her nostrils flaring, sitting rigidly in her seat.

"... Yes, I have." He smirked, his fingers dancing across the lip of a coffee cup. Did she just now notice the stench of unwashed garments?

"So, what're you here for, really?" She raised her voice, hoping somebody was eavesdropping near the door.

"Revenge, mostly. And I was here to talk, honestly." He replied, and she hadn't noticed his hand resting in his pockets, which was now pulling out a gleaming butterfly knife that she knew belonged to the spy.

"You really shouldn't have betray us, Trace." He was almost teasing, using her old nickname, "Remember what we called ourselves? The Order of Thieves? Funny how our leader cheated us out. But that's life, you know? You used to say that it was human-"

"-nature to be greedy, I know." She sighed, her head tilting somewhat at the memory.

The two paused a moment, studying each other’s faces as if they wouldn't see each other for a very long time.

"I still love you, you know." He said after a moment of consideration. "But I'm still going to kill you."

In that moment, the scene freezed. She saw in slow motion his long and lanky arms moving, his graceful fingers wrapped around the handle, raising the butterfly knife which was gleaming in the fluorescent light. She pulled herself out of his reach, her screwdriver almost materializing in her fingers. She practically danced with him, dodging each attempt to stab her. He hadn't kept himself in shape with strength, but running from the cops did help with his speed and agility. They were almost an even match, but Tracy had been trained by the Soldier, and Victor had not.

The next second was a blur, her arm instinctively lunging out at Victor at blinding speed, her fist impacting with his cheek. He spun dramatically, falling to the kitchen tile and knocking a dish tray to the floor, cups and plates shattering. Any second now, her team would be rushing in to defend her, but she was on top of him in a second, her fists flying. She didn't hear anything, or see or feel. For a minute, she almost forgot she had her screwdriver in her hands. Without any hesitation, she struck him in the chest with the sharp end, ripping it out again and again. Everything was red, her world was red. But she was blue.

When she started to feel again, her skin sending signals that she was touching hot flesh, hot blood, she almost didn't believe what happened. But she did. She was leaning over him, his old clothes wrinkled and stained red. She took in the scene around her. The floor tiles were red, the cabinets and walls were red. She raised her hands. Her hands were red. Her clothes were red. But she was still blue underneath.

"I think he's dead, partner."

She had almost whipped around and stabbed at the intruder when she found that it was the Engineer. Apparently in her killing, she hadn't noticed them crowding into the doorway, staring at her as she killed him. Their faces, their expressions, she couldn't see them past the curtain of red. She raised her stained hands. She had been caught red-handed. She almost giggled.

"C'mon, let’s get you cleaned up." The Engineer tugged at her arm, ignoring the bloody body that had been alive only a second ago. She complied, her face splattered with blood and flecks of flesh. It occurred to her that this was outright murder. Victor wasn't going to come back.

Unless the Medic could pull a Frankenstein, which she hoped he wouldn't.

They took her to the commune washroom, which she had never been in before back at Teufort. It was large and cold without the hot water. Thankfully the Engineer didn't ask any questions, he simply turned on the hot water and helped her wash the blood from her hair and clothes without actually taking them off. He left for a moment, and she was half-way afraid they were going to call the police on her, but he returned with a change of clothes for her and left her to change.

When she got out, she felt much cleaner, but yet terrible all the same. Not in the right kind of terrible either. She didn't feel bad about killing Victor, and she knew that she should be. It wasn't like any old match, he was an old friend. He wasn't going to come back like the rest of them. Yet she wasn't sad at all. But in another way, she felt he deserved it. He was spying on them, he was trying to kill her. She was just defending herself. Was killing him really that bad?

Her teammates turned as she entered the living room. The body was gone, and the Pyro was on its hands and knees, scrubbing the red from the grouted tile. She apologized for the mess, but it waved her away and continued cleaning. She asked the Medic what was going to happen to her.

"What do you think is going to happen?" He cocked a brow.

"I thought you might turn me in." She replied, nonchalant.

"Turn you in? Thief, we're ALL murderers here." He gestured broadly, "And we sincerely doubt you did it in cold blood, we heard the struggle in there. You were defending yourself... right?"

"Yes, yes I was." She said defensively, gritting her teeth somewhat.

"Gut." He tilted his head, "As for the body, I wish to use it for experiments and spare parts. Would you mind?"

"Not at all, I guess." Tracy shrugged.

"Thank you." He bowed his head somewhat before exiting the living room and supposedly going to his infirmary.

"Mademoiselle Pauling and I have taken it upon ourselves to cover you." Said the Spy, materializing from the corner, "I wouldn't want our new teammate to be taken to prison."

"Thank you." Tracy croaked in appreciation, grabbing her bag from the floor. The living room was silent and somewhat cold and empty. Her teammates had gone to their rooms after her attack, and they had all said they had killed before and weren't at all surprised that she did too. But this didn't make her feel any better. As soon as she got to her room, she threw her bag on the floor, flew under the covers of her bed, and fell asleep.

 

Chapter 11:

Tracy's boots were laden with soppy wet snow that dripped off her boots as she kicked them off near the fire. It had been a night-time match, and they had won this time, but just barely. She managed to choke the RED Thief away from her control point while the rest of the BLU team captured it, hardly able to keep their ground while a Heavy stomped his way towards them like an angry Russian bull. She didn't feel anything about the victory, however. She hadn't had the time to kill the Thief before the match was over and they were hauled back to their bases. She was, however, glad she was out of the cold. She flopped down on the red and worn down couch, the smell of alcohol from past spills and cigarettes lingered in upholstery. She pulled off her wet socks, throwing them near the fire to dry while stretching out, wiggling her toes and enjoying the heat.

From the kitchen she heard whispering. She had heard this whispering for a few days now since the last mail check. She had gotten a letter from home from her mom, who also sent some banana bread in Saran wrap, which Tracy fully enjoyed. But the rest of her team seemed to be preoccupied by a piece of paper with a regal looking return address on it.

She hadn't asked for a few days, guessing that it was only for the veterans, but at this point she was bored and irritated and very curious about what was on that paper. It seemed important enough for the entire team, minus her, to get excited about. Shoving herself from the couch and ignoring her shoes, she padded over to the kitchen and peeking through the door. The mess from her last incident with Victor was all cleaned up, perhaps the smell of blood lingered when there wasn't the scent of food to occupy the air, but it was otherwise unnoticeable that a murder had taken place there. Her teammates were surrounding the table, whispering feverishly to one another. Only the Spy seemed unconcerned, perhaps slightly amused as he watched the rest of his team quivering in nervousness.

"Uhh, what's up guys?" Tracy asked, tilting her head at the group. Their eyes darted up, a few mischievous while others trying to keep a blank expression.

"Well..."

"C'mon, let’s just tell'm. He's invited too, y'know."

"Fine, fine. Spy?"

The Spy coughed, puffing out his chest at being mentioned and approached the Thief.

"There is to be a ball of sorts at Hale Manor- what used to be Redmond's before Redmond was chased off by a BLU team, not us however. We've been, ahem, ordered to attend. It is basically a dog show, and we are the dogs. Redmond and Blutarch will be there in spirit, however, while the Announcer and Mademoiselle Pauling scour out investors to put their money on us." He explained, "And we're, unfortunately for some, are required a dance partner."

"To show that we're civilized or something." The Medic rolled his eyes to the ceiling, obviously irritated at the notion.

"Aah, so you guys don't have any partners?" She asked, smiling somewhat in amusement.

"Well, I do." The Spy smirked.

A few laughed, "Yes, the RED Scout's mum!"

"Woah, really?" Tracy gasped, and then laughed. Man, that RED Scout was going to be pissed off.

"Yes, really. Who're you going to ask? Have any lady-friends back at home? I'm setting my sights on Miss Pauling." The Scout sighed, and Tracy could practically see the little hearts dancing around his head.

"Uh, well, no. All my old friends are in jail or..." She didn't mention dead, Victor didn't count anymore. "... Err, well, anyways, no. I guess I'll either just go stag or, uh..."

"Get a hooker?" The Demoman mentioned.

"Well, if worse comes to worst, I guess I'd have to." She shrugged, her stomach bursting with butterflies when the Demoman looked at her and smiled. And then Tracy faltered.

"Damn, I don't have any dress-wear!" She cursed herself, patting her stomach. She hadn't thought the need to buy a suit, and in this whether it was probably impossible to ship one in, never mind get a hooker to go to the ball with her. Not that she was particularly looking forward to that.

At hearing this, the BLU team minus Tracy began whispering among themselves again, taking furtive glances back at her every once in a while.

"What? What?!" She hissed in embarrassment, uncomfortable with the looks she was being given.

"Nothin', we were just thinking that I could find a suit for you." The Spy replied airily, as if nothing were wrong. Tracy sighed, rolling her shoulders.

"Fine, fine. When's this ball anyways?"

"Tomorrow."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day after was very, very hectic. Tracy was caught between the Spy and the Sniper, which was a sight to behold as the two argued about what she would wear. She never actually saw what they were fighting over, or what it looked like because they didn't let her put it on. They told her she could put it on at the Manor and she was set free to go about her business and get ready.

However, she was immediately swept up into helping her teammates get ready for the ball. The Medic was busy helping the Heavy into his suit, which was so large she had mistook it to be a trash bag. She helped the Medic and Heavy with their ties and was dragged away by the Scout to help shape his hair and girl talk to him.

"Okay, so how I should I go up to her?" He asked suddenly, checking his hair in the mirror after she tied his bow for him.

"I dunno, you're supposedly the 'ladies’ man'. Why not ask the Spy?" She asked, buttoning his jacket for him.

"Yeah, but he's French, and I'm American. And he's into older women. You're just a bit older than me, so I think you'd know how to talk to Miss Pauling better." The Scout explained, frowning somewhat in nervousness as he checked his appearance again.

"Uhh, well. Just don't come on too strong, I guess." She said, smoothing the front of his jacket, "Try to ask her about her job and how her day was. Be nonchalant, try to act as if you're bored with her. If she becomes irritated with that treatment, be seriously interested in what she does. If a song comes on and she's free and she hasn't become irritated with your presence yet, I'd say you're safe to ask her to dance."

The Scout nodded, "And if that all fails?"

"Either run the fuck away or ask her straight out if she'd go on a date with you. That's all I got." Tracy shrugged a shoulder, taking a step back to observe her work. "You're ready."

"Thanks." The Scout smiled before checking himself once more in the mirror, then scampering out of the room. Tracy decided to get ready herself, freshening herself up before meeting the guys outside in the cold, jogging out to their ride without a jacket.

"Alright, who’s got my clothes?" She asked, teeth chattering as she piled inside with the rest of them, sitting beside the Medic. They were riding inside a wide, all-terrain limo-like car (as any other vehicle would be too small) that had a tiny mini-fridge that the Demoman and the Heavy were already trying out.

“I gotcha covered.” Said the Scout, across from her drinking a red cherry cola and holding up a covered package. 

“Watch that you don’t stain that thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, Ma.” He rolled his eyes and set the soda back into the fridge.

The ride to the manor was a long one. Thankfully they had set off somewhere around midday, and arrived at seven or eight o’clock at night. The manor was beautiful and slightly intimidating. A stone fountain outside was spraying something red, which Tracy assumed was wine as a few party-guests were holding out crystalline cups with needle-thin handles and catching the liquid in their cups. She felt awestruck at the characters that began to exit expensive cars— beautiful women in pink and satin dresses and exotic dark women with flattering hair that fell down to their knees. Hell, Tracy almost wished she was gay. The men were as equally as attractive and pleasing to the eye, but she found them more or less uninteresting. 

As they pulled up to the manor, the mercenaries piled out in droves. Tracy was shoved out and almost fell, but was caught by the Engineer who smiled somewhat. She was somewhat startled to see his eyes— crystalline blue that gleamed gentleness. This was in fact the first time she had ever saw any of the Engineers eyes. Tracy shook her head and quickly thanked him before being dragged away from the bustling crowd by the Scout, who practically drew her like a kite to a nearby restroom inside the manor.

From the quick glance she was able to get of the manor, it was richly decorated and very packed. Every ethnicity and class was in the main room, god knew how many more in the rest of the building. There was many, many ice sculptures pouring out various drinks such as champagne and wine and maybe even vodka (Heavy and Tracy herself would enjoy that immensely), and foods that decked the tables looked so mouthwatering Tracy had half a mind to shove the Scout off to go dig in.

Tracy was shoved into a bathroom with tiny sea-shell soaps and a large oval mirror that practically took up the entire wall. The bathroom was cleaned to perfection, the salmon-tiled floor perfectly grouted and shined that even Tracy could practically see her reflection. There was every kind of cosmetic and perfume in that room. 

“Alright, put this on.” The Scout threw the package at her, turning around a moment as she ripped through the package. What greeted her sent shock through her fingers as she touched the smooth and airy fabric. She pulled it out by the arm-bands, the tresses of the dress falling out lazily and drifting in the air with every breath she took, even when the dress was at least a foot away from her as she stretched out her arms to look at every possible detail of the dress. She had never received anything like this before, nor had she thought to buy one for herself. She had the money, yes, but she didn’t have the reason to wear it.

As much as she loved the dress, with it’s beautiful limpid color, a light teal color that was practically translucent at the knees and became more opaque at the mid-thighs. Fairy-dust seemed to line the bodice and chest, and a see-through half-tunic that cut off at the bottom of the breast.

“Here.” The Scout held in his hands two white heels with delicate blue embroidery that would make Cinderella jealous. Tracy gaped like a fish, and the Scout undoubtly misunderstood her expression.

“Hey, hey, it wasn’t MY idea, okay?” He held up his hands. “We all need a dance partner, and the pamphlet never said we couldn’t all have the same partner.”

“Then— then who am I gonna dance with?!” She finally choked out.

“Uhh… that’s not my problem?” He shrugged.

Tracy huffed indignantly but stomped into a stall to change. She did her best to be gentle with the fabric, as if it were going to rip simply by being touched. She felt out of character in the dress, as if her role was being taken by another. It was almost uncomfortable, but she was happy to find that the dress wasn’t as delicate as she thought. She stepped into the tiny shoes she had been given, and almost stepped out before remembering the final touch.

Pulling off her binder, she grabbed a couple wads of toilet paper and stuffed them into the built-in bra in the dress, which she supposed gave her a more womanly figure. As she stepped out, she combed her fingers through her now appropriately long hair and took a look in the mirror.

She looked like herself before the whole “mercenary” thing. Her eyes were wide, her nose a bit too big, lips a bit too thin, and her chin just a little bit too square. She was less overweight than last time she had checked, and was thankful that the dress was airy enough to hide the few lumps she had left that surrounded her middle. She shook her head and turned away, catching the Scout’s eye.

“So, I’m guessing that y’all couldn’t find anyone else to go with you, so you thought I should do it?” She tilted her head, not hiding her anger at him.

“Uuuuh…. Basically.” The Scout shrugged, and shoved her down in a seat and began taking out cosmetics. She was half-way afraid the Scout was going to make her look like a clown, but as she checked in the mirror to see his progress, she found she looked… better. He somehow knew how to shade her nose into a button, a lipstick to create a plumper set than she had before, and accentuated her brows and eyelashes to frame her large set of eyes. 

“How in the hell do you know what you are doing?” She asked in surprise, resisting the urge to touch her cheek to confirm that it really was her looking back through the mirror.

The Scout seemed to blush, but Tracy was unable to see as he applied eye-shadow to her eyelids. “Um… My Ma kinda… well… Ugh! Since I was the youngest, I was around my Ma the most when I was little. So… she kinda forced me to help her with her make-up and dresses n’ stuff… Not a lot, though!”

Tracy was surprised by this, but found a sort of affection for it. She hadn’t done much like that with her mom when she was little. It was always work, school, eat, read, and repeat. She wished she could have done something like that with her mom.

“That sounds nice.” She commented.

The Scout let out a sort of “Mhm” in reply and quickly stepped away to view his work. “Well, I think you’ll pass.”

What he said was some sort of an understatement. As she viewed herself in the mirror, she swore that she had never looked better. She half-way wanted to throw the Scout into a hug and twirl him around, but knew that would be totally out of character, even if she didn’t look like herself anymore.

“Ugh… I guess.” She shrugged her shoulders, deftly hiding her excitement well.

“Well, we should get out there now…” The Scout peered out of the bathroom and held out a hand to Tracy. Tracy only paused a minute before taking his hand.

Chapter 12:

The room was ablaze with chandeliers that reflected light this way and that, giving the room a sort of faerie, not of this world affect. The strange creatures around her, each breed more exotic and enticing than the last, wasn’t helping in grounding her back to the earth. Tracy felt topsy-turvy, her lips curving along a delicate glass of champagne as she inspected the area, catching sight of tropical bird blues and reds that seemed to flash out of sight as soon as she saw them. She sighed in frustration, but she knew that they’d eventually find her. They did need their partner, after all.

Tracy felt rather like a dandelion that accidentally rooted in a very beautiful garden, and any moment she was going to be uprooted. She rather welcomed her anonymity, as no one noticed her face, if only her dress gathered attention. She wasn’t that noticeable, really. She could wear the most beautiful gems and a life-like mask of Megan Fox and she still wouldn’t gather the eyes of the beautiful faerie folk around her.

Tracy turned gracefully, gathering more champagne into her glass, studying the intricacies of the ice sculpture, appreciating that it hadn’t once dripped water. Whoever had carved it knew their stuff. Tracy took a long drink, and decided to go try one of those Hors D’oeuvres she saw over at the refreshment table. She managed to not bump into any of the other guests, helping herself to the delicious food.

Soon, however, the sound of a trumpet blasted into her ear-drum, causing her to drop all the food she had been so miraculously balancing on her arms. Luckily it just barely missed her dress, and nobody was looking her way as they gave their full attention to the grand staircase. At first what Tracy thought was an abnormally large bear, she realized it was a human.

This human was extremely large and tall, but not fat. It seemed most of his body weight consisted of muscle, skin stretched so taught across the bulging tissue she wondered if he accidentally threw his skin into the wash too long. He was a brunette, she could tell from the large patch of chest-hair he had, which was curiously shaped into the likeness of Australia. What she could tell of his attire was that it used to be a suit, a red bow-tie around his neck and cuffs on his wrists. His pants probably used to be suit pants, but were ripped up to the knees, and he wore mud-splattered hiking boots. All-in-all, the man was a sight to behold.

On the man’s right tree-trunk of an arm was a particularly skinny woman, with a horse-like and malnourished appearance. Her eyes were sunken in; her cheek-bones couldn’t be any more distinguished even if Tracy took a highlighter to her face. Her clothes, a purple business suit Tracy noticed, were practically rags hanging off of her. Her bony hips just couldn’t hold onto the skirt very well. Tracy gathered the woman must have belted her clothes on.

“Glad to see you all came here to Hale Manor! The Name’s Saxton Hale!” Boomed the large man with the continent on his chest. “Proud Australian and CEO of Mann Co.!”

Hale took a moment to allow the group to clap and cheer, which they did dutifully, if only out of fear what his boulder-sized fists could do to them. Aah, so this was the guy they bought all their weapons from.

“And the lovely lady on my arm is Helen, the Administrator and the Announcer.” He introduced her with what would have been a gallant wave if only a few people didn’t have to duck in order to dodge his hand. “And Miss Pauling.” He said with another. A very flustered Miss Pauling stood to Hale’s other side, attempting to not be side-swiped by the larger creature of a man. Tracy had to admit, Miss Pauling did look awfully nice tonight, she looked rather cute in a purple frilly dress and black heels. A pearl choker suited her nicely.

“And now, without a further a-do, it is time for the dance! Grab your partner and make your way to the dance hall!” Hale shouted with a wave before being steered back by Helen, who Tracy must have misjudged her strength. The BLU Scout immediately ran up and greeted Pauling, Tracy couldn’t hear what they were talking about over all the fuss and chatter, but she supposed since Pauling hadn’t ditched him yet, he was safe.

Tracy found her elbow being gently grabbed, and was surprised the meet the BLU Medic. “Well, well. You do look like a woman when you aren’t covered in mud and baggy clothing.” He teased, leading her gently to the dance hall. Tracy felt comfortable dancing with him as a first; at least she knew he might know something about dancing. He did play that classical music twenty-four seven in his infirmary. 

Soon the room was full, the BLU and RED Team all dancing quite slowly. Tracy was pleased to find that some of her teammates had found actual dance partners, perhaps amongst the crowd they had been absorbed by. The Heavy was dancing with a very tiny and pale woman with black hair cut in a bob. From what she could hear from the woman’s laughter, she was Russian. Ahh, true love. 

As they spun, Tracy found herself switching partners for a stranger. He was handsome enough, at least, and his smile was wide enough that he didn’t seem to look at her at all, which she welcomed. Thankfully, they switched again, Tracy practically tripping over her own feet as she was caught by an Engineer. The RED Engineer, to clarify. 

She heard, no, felt someone sucking in a breath, sharp eyes digging into her scalp. But she didn’t dare look, for she knew it was Helen.

“Play it cool.” She whispered, spinning with the Engineer delicately, her dress flaying out like some sort of aquatic animal, wisps of fabric leaving a trail of glitter in her wake. 

“Then don’t grip so hard.” The RED hissed back, but smiled. “You sure do make an awfully convincing woman. How’d you get your—“

“Toilet paper in the built in bra.” She snorted, but felt a red blush rise on her skin, clashing awfully with her teal dress.  She studied his outfit, a clean and crisp looking suit. “Funny, I’d think you’d wear something more traditional-like.”

“Spy had it out for me and my suits, forced me into this one.” The RED Engineer snorted. “Even found a glove for my hand.” He raised his left, wiggling his fingers, and managed to pull off the glove with his teeth. Tracy let out a little, involuntary gasp, jerking away from the Engineer and accidentally bumping into something large and warm.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean—” She began to try and explain her surprise, only receiving an amused smirk as he pointed his robot and obviously not organic hand behind her. Tracy jumped again when she was greeted with a booming voice.

“Aye, if you wanted a dance, all you had to do was ask, Sheila!” Hale boomed, almost shoving the woman he had been dancing with across the room and gently wrapped his paws around her waist. Tracy watched as his previous partner stomped over to the side-lines to rub at her feet. She took this as a bad sign.

“I- uhh, I didn’t—” She tried to find the words that she hadn’t been wanting to dance with him, but shut up at the sweet and very dangerous smile on the Australian’s face. Tracy had misjudged his largeness. His body wasn’t as large as she had thought it to be, but it was more like his aura that made him seem a hundred times taller and larger and meaner. Tracy tittered nervously, “I-I mean, I’d love to dance with you.”

“Grand!” The Australian beamed as he began to move them in a slow circle. Tracy felt like a doll in the large man’s hands, and didn’t attempt to fight it. “What’s your name, Sheila?”

“Uhh….” Tracy decided against using her own name, since she signed herself as Tracy when she bought her own stuff from Mann Co., and that would raise a lot of awkward questions.  So, she decided to go with her middle name. “Jesse.”

“Jesse. Nice.” He nodded, as if they were talking about a breed of dog, “Don’t believe I sent you an invite.”

Tracy froze half a second. So Hale wasn’t a stupid man after all— just a violent one. She could feel his fingers curling into her waist, threatening to snap her in half. “I, uhm, am a dance partner for someone. They let me come with them.”

His fingers laxed after he gave this a moment of consideration, “I suppose that’s possible.”

Their strained and half-way-getting-there violent conversation was cut brief as shouts were heard in the general direction of the dining hall. Tracy took this opportunity to slip out of the Australian’s arms while he was distracted, something sharp and painful cutting into her shoulder blade, but she hardly noticed. She recognized those shouts.

When she entered the dining hall, the din was unimaginably loud as what she could make out were two RED and BLU blurs, most likely Scouts, chasing each other, bouncing off the walls, knocking over the vodka-pouring ice sculpture (Tracy was sure she heard the Heavy sobbing) and lobbing insults and one another. Tracy almost thought she saw her reflection when she caught sight of the RED Thief, casually leaning back and enjoying a cigarette, watching the violence unfold with the casual interest of one watching day-time television.

“Pauling, what the hell happened?” Tracy shouted, pulling Pauling over by the arm. Pauling looked more or less annoyed, perhaps a bit frazzled from the happenings.

“Your Scout was flirting with me, then the RED one jumped in and they started this.” She shrugged, sighing as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Got a gun on hand?” Tracy mentioned.

Pauling raised a perfectly penciled brow but dug into her orchid purse to pull out a desert eagle, gleaming in the light as the chandelier swayed dangerously; casting beams of light this way and that in erratic directions. Tracy took it without due permission and fired into the ceiling, deftly catching the two Scouts who felt to the floor in a heap, glaring sharply at Tracy who showed only annoyance.

“Can you two stop bouncing around like Jackrabbits, and perhaps go apologize to Saxton Hale about messing up his dining hall?” She hissed, handing the desert eagle back to Pauling.

“He’s going to be a bit angrier that you just shot his pet eagle.” Pauling noted dryly, pointing a perfectly manicured nail at the general direction in which she shot. Tracy noted in horror how the eagle squawked sickly.

As Saxton lumbered in to see what all the fuss was about, Tracy felt herself being dragged back, mildly surprised to find the BLU Soldier pulling his arm around her waist and carrying her like a package out of the Manor as it dawned on Hale what had happened to his eagle.

Hale’s roar of anger was quite loud as the Soldier commandeered a jeep, shoving them both inside inadequately as she practically sat on top of him, the BLU Sniper jumping in at the last second when a sharp crunch was heard, the jeep bending backwards as it was hit. Tracy entangled her fingers into the Soldier’s tux, screaming in fear as she buried her head in his chest. Finally the Sniper was able to manage pulling out of the drive and speeding uncontrollably from the area.

“Oh my god.” Tracy managed to find the air to speak, still straddling the Soldier as they drove.

“That was real stupid of yah, y’know.” The Sniper mentioned, a smile sneaking onto his lips, “…But nice shot.”

“Thanks.” She replied dryly, noting how quite the Soldier was, shifting on his lap so she wasn’t so much of a burden on him.

“Thanks for, uh, saving me back there.” She mentioned.

“No problem.” The Soldier grunted, and maintained a straight face the rest of the ride back to base.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 13:

Tracy was glad that was over. Soon the Christmas holiday passed. Mom was getting a bit more worried every day, but Tracy comforted her by saying she simply took the scholarship and was now well on her way to success. Which was true. Tracy couldn’t believe how much money she had. Soon the year passed. They had a lot of cake and pies on New Year’s, courteously from the Pyro’s culinary skills. Tracy had begun to notice she was ticking off the day’s quicker now. This was not unwanted, she really did want to be free again, but felt she had grown attached to her BLU comrades. She would indeed miss them once her time was up there.

Months passed. Snow soon turned to rain. Grass grew once more, and the group was taken to another place called Harvest, which was basically a sort of barn-like arena with a two town-houses they had to live in. It felt homey enough, until the summer heat beat on them. Her anniversary becoming a mercenary came and passed like a dim but almost fond memory.

The next months were eerily the same, a pattern erupted. They would win some, lose some. They were trapped in a vicious cycle, as evenly matched as they were. 

Heat turned the leaves into a crisp, falling to the ground in loads. Pumpkin pie began wafting through the air as Thanksgiving passed. Luckily they weren’t required to go to another ball, as Hale fear for his pets being shot at again. (Luckily the eagle didn’t die; its wing was only clipped.)

Snow soon littered the fields, and frost hung in the air as her team exhaled. Tracy noticed the growing tension between the REDs, more directly the RED Thief. It was like her team was tip-toeing around her as if she were a particularly destructive explosive. She also found the REDs staring at her; however she was never able to describe the look because she was always killed before she could get a good look. 

Snow melted once more as grass grew. She was surprised they hadn’t been moved yet, but she had yet grown accustom to the area and was happy where she was, even if the air conditioners didn’t always work. The air tasted sweet on her tongue as the heat arrived earlier than usual that year— chock it up to global warming. (“Hippie talk,” The Soldier would say.)

As her two year contract was coming to an end, Tracy felt an underlying dread of going back. She supposed it was because she had grown to the lifestyle. It wasn’t a healthy one, mind you, but she had become accustomed to it. She liked to have a bit of vodka in the morning and to wrestle with the Scout when he was high on Bonk!. She had begun to like the chanting of the Soldier as they stomped down the dirt path during their training sessions, and the exertion she pulled out to maintain third in place when they all unofficially raced.

She’d miss the strange Christmas times when the Demoman would put up a bunch of holly and mistletoe, and he’d say in a half-drunk slur: “If I wasn’t the man I was… I’d kiss yah.”

Not that she’d have minded, but like that was going to happen.

-

It was April Twenty-Ninth. She was so close to being home-free. Tracy had thought a lot during those hot summer nights when it was too humid to even attempt to sleep. She had wondered what jobs she could pull off after this, if she really needed a job that is. She was rich beyond her wildest dreams, and didn’t doubt she could live off half her savings for the rest of her life and use the other half as a cushion if things went rough. Hell, she could retire right now.

Tracy had grabbed a towel from the hanger in the shower room. As far as she knew, the rest of her team were in their rooms or eating, so she had plenty of time to herself in the showers. As much as she cared for, at least.

She turned the valve, a hot stream of water dribbling out of the head before finally springing to life. She had grown to the surprise attack of water, closing her eyes and the appropriate time. What she wasn’t prepared for was the sound of the shower room’s door opening.

“Someone in here?” Called a voice. The Demoman.

“Uh…. Yeah.” She called out weakly in reply. She dared to hope the Demoman would leave, but he didn’t as he began lumbering in drunkenly, mumbling incoherencies as he swayed on his toes, the damp floor not helping his balance. Tracy only hoped that the steam would hide her genitalia, or lack there-of.

As he came into sight, Tracy backed into the corner of the shower, turning her stomach to the cool tile wall in hopes to hide herself, but was drawn back by a warm a calloused hand. That hand dropped, a sudden intake of breath when she turned alerted her that he wasn’t drunk enough to not recognize her lack of penis.

“You—You’re…” The Demoman began nervously.

“Yeah, I’m a woman.” She grunted indignantly, standing proudly and nakedly. She had to strip before the Medic before; it was procedure. Standing in front of the Demoman, crush or no, wasn’t all that daunting.

The Demoman did something curious then. He slipped backwards and drifted back out the door without uttering another word. Tracy took this as a bad sign and decided to hurry up before the whole lot of her team came in to witness the show. She scrubbed at her short hair and cleaned herself up before finally stepping out and meeting her team in the living room. It was deathly quiet, and all except the Medic were grim-looking.

“So, apparently it changes your opinion of me if I am a woman.” She cocked a brow, sitting on the arm of the chair the Medic sat in, looking perfectly comfortable beside the masquerading girl as he read from Shakespeare; if only to hide his growing smile.

The men said nothing, so she sighed and continued, “You know me, guys. I fight beside you, remember? And I can keep up with you, thanks Soldier, for that.” She winked, and was amused to find the Soldier’s face went a delightful shade of ruby that clashed terribly with his blue-grey uniform.

She sighed, “C’mon, you guys. Say something.”

The Scout was the first to pipe up, “I almost kinda had my suspicions! ‘Cause when I put that make-up on yah, it sure did look like it belonged on yer’ face.”

“Thanks, I think.” She smiled somewhat before turning to face the rest of her group. “Well?”

“Medic…” The Engineer began slowly, “You knew? All this time? And yah didn’t tell us…?”

The Medic let out a low chuckle, “As the frau said, doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“Thanks again, doc, for keeping it quiet.” Tracy grinned at him, receiving a smile back.

“But women—” The Demoman began, but was cut off by the Soldier.

“But women nothing. You saw what she could do out there. As much as I hate to admit it, but she sure as hell is an asset to our team, woman or not.” The Soldier interjected quickly, raising a threatening finger at the Demoman, who immediately shut up. Tracy found the Soldier’s defense of her very shocking, for she had guess he would be the most against her being there. And she also found his transition from calling her “her” instead of “him” was quite endearing.

“Thank… thanks, Sollie.” She cracked a smile in his direction. The Soldier seemed to begin sputtering out an appropriate reply, tripping over his tongue when the Pyro popped in, mumbling something incoherent.

“What do you mean, the RED team has already known?” Piped the Engineer, the official translator of the group.

“Shouldn’t the Spy know that faster than you?” Tracy mentioned.

“I did, I simply passed it onto the Pyro. Oh, and nice to see you finally came out, Mademoiselle Tracy.” The Spy bowed his head a little, a bemused twitch of his lips obvious. Tracy rolled her eyes.

“So, now that you all know, what’re you going to do about it?” She asked finally, leaning back.

The group remained quiet a moment, sharing looks between themselves before shrugging, a few exiting the room.

“H-Hey, what’re you all doing?” She began to stand when the Medic rested a calm hand on her shoulder.

“That means that nothing happened, Frau. Your secret is safe.” The Medic smiled.

Tracy pursed her lips before she smiled, as large as she had ever done. It felt good to be free from lies. At least now she wouldn’t have to squirrel around to get a good shower time and hide all her womanly products. Tracy let out a whoop and scurried outside. The wind tossed her short hair mildly, and from across the open space, she could see the RED Engineer waving fondly over. Tracy smiled back, giving him an excited wave in return.

“So, what’re you going to do now?” The Soldier asked as he joined her on the roof.

“I really have no idea. There’s nothing much left for me at home. I was thinking I could do how the Demoman did, get a mansion and get Monday’s off. Y’know, have the best of both worlds.” Tracy mentioned vaguely as the wind rippled her baggy shirt. The Soldier snorted somewhat before leaning on the railing, his startling livid eyes burying into her own.

“I’m… we’re happy to have you here.” He stated simply before stalking back inside, leaving a very confused female thief alone on the terrace. It seemed like hours there, she stood, watching the skyline and wondering about her future when a swatch of RED caught her eye.

The RED Thief and the RED Scout, linking arms and smiling vaguely at each other. As much as she hated her doppelganger, she had to feel happy her copy was happy. At least, vaguely so. 

As the wind whipped away any last worries Tracy had, she abruptly turned, and with one final look at the azure sky, she stepped back inside home. 

 


End file.
